


The Horseman's Legacy

by linda92595



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linda92595/pseuds/linda92595
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A threat from his past surfaces just as Methos enters into a new relationship with MacLeod</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Horseman's Legacy

The Horseman’s Legacy

Fandom: Highlander

Pairings: MacLeod/Methos, Joe/OFC

Rating: FRAO

Warnings: Rape, violence M/M sex,

 

 

Bronze Age, 1000 B.C.

 

Methos tugged absently at his horse’s reins, pulling the animal’s head around, slowing his progress through the driving snow. Abtimvia’s horse stumbled behind him, and Methos smiled as he heard her cursing the animal.

 

"Come on Abbe, it’s not fair to blame the horse for this weather," he said. She pulled her horse to a halt besides his, glaring over at her friend. The Horseman’s blue-painted face turned to her and with a sigh he brushed the fur lined cloak out of his eyes glancing up at the rapidly graying sky. Abtimvia mirrored his gesture and like her leader, Abbe’s face was also painted half blue -- a mirror image to the Horseman’s own.

 

"No, I know whose fault it is," she snorted. Methos frowned at her, but said nothing.

 

"You know it’s true," she persisted.

 

"That’s enough," Methos growled. "Whatever he is, he is still our leader."

 

"And he’s going to lead us strait to the afterlife, permanently."

 

"Abbe, I can’t protect you from him. And I can’t let you get away with running your mouth like this in camp. You know that Caspian and Silas will back Kronos before they back me, especially now. Maybe a long time ago it would have been different, but now I’m just as much a second class citizen as you. And don’t forget that you are too."

 

"I know, Thos," she sighed. "When are you moving the scouting party down to the valley?"

 

"Soon, if the weather holds. I’m afraid that I waited just a bit too long. I’m just not in much of a hurry to get back to the camp." Methos nudged his horse forward toward the valley nestled at the base of the mountains where the alluvial fan spread out.

 

The two traveled onward in silence as the drifting flakes of snow swirled around them. The stark beauty of the valley faded from Methos’ sight as his mind drifted back in time, perhaps centuries, he had not really kept track, and back to the night that Cassandra had escaped from the Horsemen’s camp. Kronos had blamed Methos for her escape, raging against his brother. Methos’ life had changed that night. Kronos made sure that Caspian and Silas, as well as the camp slaves, knew beyond a doubt that Methos was now to provide those services that Cassandra would have provided to the other Horseman.

Kronos had dragged Methos into his own tent, and raped him repeatedly. He had continued to rape Methos night after night until Methos had given up even trying to fight. Now Methos gave to Kronos without question and Kronos took whenever and whatever he wanted from his brother. And Methos had just waited, suffering silently, until Abbe had come into his life.

 

Abbe touched his arm, and Methos started. He pulled his horse to a halt, turning to his second in command. She motioned to the hill side where an unearthly silence had settled over the valley. Both riders stopped. And Methos shrugged; still he couldn’t shake his unease. Abbe’s presence steadied him somewhat. In fact it was her friendship that had kept Methos sane these past years when life in the Horsemen’s camp was shifting, changing -- and not for the better.

 

When the Horsemen had begun to ride together raiding parties were a common fact of life. Methos had lost many friends, lovers, a couple of wives and even one child to raiding parties. Small nomadic tribes of hunters and gathers were easy prey for the armed riders that banded together across the valley. But times had changed and the nomadic tribes were giving way to more settled villages. Even small cities such as Ur grew up in the mist of the smaller villages.

 

Larger groups of people were harder to run down. Villagers worked together more often, and more people were learning to use weapons. The larger settlements were even beginning to form armed guards to protect them. The four Horsemen were having a harder time controlling the raids, killing more armed people took more time, and four men alone were no longer sufficient to take down a large armed group.

 

Slowly Methos had convinced Kronos that the Horsemen needed to change with the times. Now each man had a second, a sword arm to watch his back. The Horsemen had gone through too many mortal sword brothers as the years had passed. Now only younger Immortals were sought out to join the Horsemen and Abbe was the only woman "sword brother."

 

Methos glanced at Abbe and found himself lost in thought again. The Horsemen had been moving their summer camp north to cooler climates when they had passed through a small, dirt poor city, too poor for them to even consider raiding. In fact the only thing in the city worth paying attention too was a small arena where knife fighting contests were held. Men poured into the arena drinking the local beer and betting on the fights. Caspian had always been found of blood sports and had pressed Kronos into attending the afternoon events.

 

The main attraction had been a small, dark haired woman of undeterminable age who fought two handed in the old Egyptian style. Methos had watched the woman in awe of her abilities with the long bladed dagger that was just short of being a sword. She fought against male competitors, the female fighters not proving to be good enough to survive a few minutes in the arena with her, and when she had moved around the arena toward the four Horsemen, Methos had been the first to feel the tingle of an Immortal presence in her.

He had watched her fight a few minutes more before slipping silently out of the stands toward the pit where the slave owners lounged. A few words and a hand full of gold coins and the Horsemen left with a new slave.

 

As the years passed, Abbe went from slave to 'sword brother' surviving even Kronos violent tirades with her stead fast loyalty to her Lord and Master-Death.

 

She had grounded Methos, and was always been completely devoted to him. She had never forgotten that it was he who had saved her from slavery as a knife fighter in the arena of that small shithole of a settlement. And it was Abbe who would stand with Methos against Kronos, if he chose, or run with him when he chose to leave the Horsemen. One alternative or the other was rapidly becoming their only option for staying alive.

 

Methos slowly turned his mount toward the shallow valley, and the few hide tents placed well back into the hillside. Smoke rose in thin wisps curling toward the clouds, barely visible in the ever thickening whirling snow. The riders where still some distance from the temporary camp, and no sound or movements came to them.

 

A suddenly rumbling roar dragged both riders to complete awareness. Their horses shied jerking nervously and both Abtimvia and Methos had to rein in hard, holding the skittish animals in check. Then from far up the side of the mountain a sheet of snow and ice broke away, tumbling down toward the tents below. The avalanche picked up speed as Methos whipped his horse to a gallop Abbe following close behind. He tried to shout a warning to the few men sheltered in the tents, but the ice sheet poured over the alluvial fan cascading down the hillside and sliding over the tents in a matter of minutes.

 

As suddenly as the avalanche had begun it ended. A smooth pearly white layer of snow and ice lay undisturbed, nestled in the scoop of the valley. It covered the entire camp, and not so much as the top of a tent post remained to be seen.

 

Abbe pulled her horse up short, turning her friend. "Should we dig for them?"

 

Methos shook his head, "No, they’ll stay frozen and thaw when the spring comes. I’m not going back to camp. I’m done with it. I can’t offer you much, just what we have on our backs, and our weapons. I’ll understand if you want to go back."

 

Abbe glared at him, and then smiled snorting indelicately, "To Kronos’ tender mercies? I’d sooner bed a viper...bed it and wed it." She giggled like a young girl, and Methos smiled.

 

"You’ve been a good friend to me, the best I’ve ever had."

 

She reached out grasping Methos’ forearm in a warriors hand clasp, "Always Thos. Now and forever."

The two turned their horses away from the camp, and settled into a gentle trot toward the caravan trails to the south...

 

**Seacouver, Washington 2002**

 

The black BMW pulled smoothly into the parking lot of the Seacouver International Airport. The airport was newly built just open for business, and a result of the ever-expanding city. Seacouver had changed in so many ways since Duncan MacLeod had settled there fifteen years earlier.

 

Casually MacLeod stepped out of the BMW and gracefully turned to watch a huge jet drop out of the sky. Locking the car door and slipping his keys into the pocket of his slacks MacLeod ambled over to the airport shuttle waiting by the curb. MacLeod settled into a seat and glanced over at the shuttle’s other occupants.

 

A family with four children was sitting scattered through the shuttle’s interior. The youngest, a beautiful little boy with coppery bright curls, lay sleeping peacefully on his father’s lap. The eldest, a teenage girl wearing headphones with some god-awful loud music pouring out sneered in his direction.

 

MacLeod was instantly taken back to ten years ago in Paris when MacLeod had first met the man he was meeting at the terminal. Methos had gone by the name Adam Pierson and he had been sitting in the floor of his apartment wearing headphones, with the same type of god-awful loud music pouring out.

 

It had been five years since MacLeod had last seen the ancient Immortal, and he hoped that his anxiety was not apparent. Their relationship had settled into an easy going friendship that MacLeod had grown comfortable with; still he had regretted that it had never developed into an intimate relationship, though he had tried to approach the elder Immortal. Still things had never seemed right between the two men. Besides, MacLeod and Amanda had been 'on and off,' before she finally let the Highlander off the hook and settled down in New York with her new boyfriend, a former-cop, turned Immortal.

So, for the last five years MacLeod had dated irregularly and waited for Methos to show up on his doorstep determined to not miss the opportunity whenever it presented itself. And three days ago it had in the form of an e-mail. Just three lines, but MacLeod had almost cried when he had read them. _Coming to Seacouver. August 4th. United Airlines, Flight 1504 arriving 2:30 p.m._

MacLeod glanced at his watch, willing the shuttle to hurry on its way even though there was still an hour before Methos’ flight was to arrive. He swung out of the chair, watching the other occupants trundling towards the gate for flight 1504. As MacLeod settled into his seat he watched the ebb and flow of the pedestrian traffic through the terminal. So far there had been no buzz of Immortal presence, which suited him fine since he had left his katana in the BMW tucking a shorter sword in the sheath in the lining of his black leather duster. Carefully unfolding his newspaper he scanned the pages tapping his fingers against the armrest on the molded plastic chair.

 

A voice on the loudspeaker pulled MacLeod from his mental wandering announcing that Flight 1504 from Paris was arriving, on time, at Gate 11. Folding the now forgotten paper and laying it on the table MacLeod rose, stretching his back, and ambled over to the gate

When the passengers began unloading he carefully scanned each male face not sure if Methos had kept his Adam Pierson persona. A tall lanky form appeared at the jet door moving into the clear plexi-glass tunnel connecting the plane to the terminal, and MacLeod passed over him. But no more passengers deplaned, and the Scot began to worry that his friend had missed the flight.

 

Finally, his eyes were drawn back to the last person who left the jet and he gasped. The slender man, if one could call him that, slouched insolently against the terminal wall grinning at MacLeod. But the figure was not Adam Pierson as MacLeod had last seen him. He had the same slender, wiry build, but the bulky sweaters and baggy jeans had been re-placed by even looser fitting jeans belted low on his hips with a good two inches of flannel boxer protruding from the top. A tight black tee shirt completed the outfit, and Methos hair was longer -- spiked at the top in glistening spears. He grinned and sauntered over to MacLeod. "Well, it’s been five years aren’t you even going to say 'Hello'?"

 

"Adam," the Scot suddenly leaned forward grasping the slender shoulders and pulling the apparently younger man into a fierce hug.

 

"Isn’t this a bit of a departure for you?" The Highlander said pushing Methos gently back to take in the whole view.

 

With another grin and a shrug the other man said, "A bit of a miscalculation on my part. All this terrorism has severely limited the forged document trade. So I had to hack into the hospital database myself to get a new birth certificate for Adam. I miscalculated his birth date. Instead of thirty-two, I ended up twenty-two."

 

"Isn’t that a little rough? I mean you certainly look the part. I never believed you were older than nineteen or twenty when you first died."

 

"It’s mostly the clothes and hair. And no, it’s not rough. Adam has recently inherited a great deal of money from his Uncle Michael, so I just went with it. It means that I can stay in one place for a longer period of time, too."

 

MacLeod followed his friend to the baggage claim area, noting that Adam wasn’t wearing a jacket or coat and, with increased airport security, his sword would have been secured in his luggage. However, MacLeod was sure that Methos was well armed in some fashion. As casually as he could Mac said, "So you’re planning to stay in Seacouver for a while?"

Methos hefted the large suitcase in one hand and pulled a smaller bag over his shoulder, "Yeah, I enrolled at the University of Seacouver, majoring in art history."

 

MacLeod groaned, "You’re not in one of my classes are you?"

 

Methos actually chuckled at that, "No, you teach senior level classes. I am a post-graduate student."

 

"My car is this way." MacLeod motioned toward the parking lot, and Methos followed still grinning then linked his arm through MacLeod’s.

 

"So Highlander, did you miss me?"

 

"More than you can know." MacLeod paused at the BMW opening the trunk. Quickly the two men settled Methos baggage, and climbed into the car. "So, feel like a quick drink?"

"Sure, let me guess Joe’s?" Methos settled back against the headrest. "I know, I know, I haven’t kept in contact with him like I should have."

 

"I didn’t say anything. Look, I’m really happy you’re here, and I don’t do guilt or judgments any more either. After all you just got off the plane; I’ll save all that for later."

"Ho Ho, that’ll be the day. All that great Scottish brooding gone by the wayside, I don’t think so." Methos snorted.

 

MacLeod pulled the car into a spot down the street from the bar, and walked around to open the door for his passenger. With a nod he motioned the other man into the door. Methos glanced around looking for their friend, but Joe was not behind the bar. MacLeod walked in smiling at the waitress, a tall, slightly chubby middle aged woman with platinum blonde hair streaked with gray. Tugging Methos to a small table in the back, MacLeod motioned the woman over. "Hi, Carol. Is Joe around?"

 

"He went to the bank. But he’ll probably be back in a few minutes. Do you want the usual?"

 

"Sure."

 

She turned to Methos, "What about you sweetie?"

 

Methos’ eyebrows climbed into his hairline, "Sweetie?" he growled. "I’ll have a beer."

 

"I don’t think so."

 

"I beg your pardon?" Methos snorted, and then turned on MacLeod who was snickering uncontrollably. "Why not? Mac will you cut it out."

 

"Let me see your I.D., kid."

 

Fishing his wallet out of his jeans pocket Methos searched for Adam Pierson’s Paris driver’s license, "I seemed to have missed placed it," he mumbled when he realized it was in hopeless outdated, "Can’t I just have the beer?"

 

Carol smiled, "Nope."

 

"Oh, for God’s sake. Why not?"

 

"You know your little friend has a bad attitude."

 

"I am not his "little" friend," Methos snapped glaring at the waitress, then at the Highlander. "He’ll vouch for me."

 

MacLeod grinned, "Just bring him a Coke."

 

"Oh God, I’m going back to Paris. You knew this would happen, didn’t you? You brought me in here just to flaunt that beer in my face didn’t you? You know, cruelty ill becomes you, Mac." Methos snapped then glared at the waitress again as she slammed the glass of Coke down in front of him. Methos fished out the cherry she had dropped in the soda with a grimace, and MacLeod choked on his beer laughing.

 

The door swung open and Joe walked in. Spotting MacLeod at the rear table he usually occupied Joe ambled to the back of the room motioning Carol over. She grabbed a beer mug and filled a pitcher taking it back to the table. Carefully she poured the beer for Joe and deposited the pitcher on the table in front of MacLeod. Smiling perkily at the ancient Immortal she said, "Want me to get you another Coke, sweetie?"

 

Methos shot her look that could have frosted a nuclear reactor, smiling nastily he said, "No thank you, Ma’am." This brought on a fresh round of snickering from MacLeod as Carol slapped her bar towel over her arm, and stalked back to the bar without a backward glance.

 

Joe shook his head smiling at the ancient Immortal. "You should go easy on the help. So are you on the wagon, Old Man?"

 

"Apparently, until I get an American driver’s license," Methos sighed. "Clerical error." He glared at Joe mentally willing him to not ask the question he could see on Joe’s face. The other man nodded as if he had long given up expecting a straight answer from his friend.

"So what brings you back this way?"

 

MacLeod was gratified to see the dusky, pink blush on the older man’s cheeks. "I’m sorry I haven’t been good about keeping in contact. Adam suffered a nasty public accident, and getting things together to move to the United States took me a bit of time. That and selling the bookstore in Paris."

 

"So you gonna hang around a while?" Joe asked casually cocking his head toward Methos.

 

The other man smiled. "Yeah, a while. You know I’m really beat. MacLeod would you mind taking me a hotel close by? I’m gonna crash for a bit."

 

Shifting his beer mug around on the table nervously MacLeod cleared his throat, "You could stay at the loft, Adam."

 

Methos smiled, "I don’t want to be a bother, Mac."

 

"Since when? No seriously, I got it remodeled. I am now the proud owner of a guest suite." He smiled thinking, _of course that great big bed is still there too, plenty of room to share._

 

Methos cocked his head, "Just like old times, eh?"

 

"Oh yeah, maybe even better."

 

Wondering what his friend meant by that Methos followed the other man to the car, and settled into the front seat. Their conversation died quietly as Methos leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes. MacLeod seemed satisfied just to have the ancient Immortal with him again, although he kept glancing over at his companion as if to assure himself that Methos was still there.

 

MacLeod smiled to himself as he eased the BMW into traffic. _I’m not going to let you get away this time, Old Man._

 

Tucking the last of the freshly washed dinner dishes back into the cabinet, MacLeod glanced over his shoulder at the still form sitting on the cream colored leather sofa in the living room. Methos’ head was tucked against the large decorative pillows that Mac had tossed on the sofa for comfort. Methos' gaze was intent on the book held in his long slim fingers.

 

With a sigh Mac pulled two bottles of beer from the fridge, handing one to his friend then stood by the sofa. Methos glanced up at the Highlander smiling as he took a long pull from the brown glass bottle.

 

Methos shifted on the sofa pulling his legs up under his body, giving MacLeod room to sit down. Glancing up from his book again the older Immortal smiled at his companion, a faint trace of pink coloring his cheeks. MacLeod leaned forward running a hand across the soft spikes of hair affectionately. Of its own volition his thumb caressed the soft hair then traveled down a sharply etched cheekbone finally brushing across Methos’ lips before falling away.

 

"Mac?" Methos said one brow lifting, and the Scot felt his pulse jump when the indecently long lashes fluttered closed over Methos’ green-gold eyes.

 

“Yes?" MacLeod whispered and the older Immortal’s eyes snapped open, locking on the soft brown eyes studying his face. Without a sound the Scot tugged the book from Methos’ numb fingers, and drew the older Immortal off the sofa into his arms. Mac let his fingertips brush lightly down Methos’ arms, and then tightened at his slim waist.

Their bodies fitted together easily, naturally, and MacLeod could feel the warm gust of breath as Methos sighed. Closing his eyes the Highlander nuzzled against the other man’s cheek as his questing lips sought the source of that heated whisper.

 

Methos’ lips were warm, dry and surprisingly soft to the touch. The kiss was redolent with the crisp taste of beer overlaying the flavors of the food and wine from dinner. With a sigh of his own MacLeod broke the kiss only long enough to tug the tight tee shirt over Methos’ head then fastened his mouth on the slender neck savoring the taste of sweat and hard, warm flesh.

 

Methos’ hand nimbly worked at the buttons on MacLeod’s shirt then dove inside the crisp silk to stroke over hot, hard muscles. His fingers brushed over the dark nipples twisting and teasing until Mac groaned against his mouth, "Oh God, don’t. I can’t bear it anymore." Methos snickered, and the Scot squeezed his waist, raking his fingers up the other man’s ribs enjoying the way Methos’ muscles rippled with his laughter.

 

Quickly they stumbled to the bed tugging the last pieces of clothing away and fell together on the cool linens. MacLeod rolled them over pressing the smaller man down and Methos wiggled beneath the Highlander’s body, hands sliding down the smooth muscled planes of MacLeod’s back.

 

Dropping kisses on Methos’ shoulders Mac worked his way down the long, lean form until he could suckle a dusky pink nipple. Methos jerked beneath him gasping in pleasure. He could feel the warm rasp of MacLeod’s tongue bathing his flesh as Mac drifted lower, down the sleek muscled chest to the thatch of dark brown curls surrounding Methos’ jutting penis. Gently MacLeod traced the large vein that ran the length of hot flesh then flicked his tongue over the head. Methos hips bucked upward from the bed, and he groaned appreciatively, "Oh gods, Mac! You’re going to kill me!"

 

"Not yet," MacLeod said then with a wolfish grin he swallowed Methos to the hilt as the other man cried out jerking uncontrollably.

 

"Duncan, gods, Duncan!" Methos was sure that he couldn’t stand the onslaught of MacLeod’s lips and tongue when the other man slipped his hand between his mouth and Methos’ flesh mixing the moisture of his mouth with the clear fluid leaking from the tip of Methos’ erect penis onto two of his fingers. Quickly Macleod seized Methos’ hard length in his mouth and pressed the two fingers between Methos' buttocks into the rosy entrance to his body.

 

MacLeod’s fingers sank into Methos’ hot, tight channel to the second joint, and Methos yelped. MacLeod paused in his sucking long enough to mumble, "Sorry."

“No, its okay. You just startled me," Methos said drawing a deep, shuddering breath then blew it out again relaxing his body enough that MacLeod’s fingers could slide fully into him.

 

With a quick kiss to the tip of Methos’ penis the Scot engulfed the head and resumed his furious sucking sliding his fingers in and out until they bumped against Methos’ prostate. Methos cried out again hips pumping and salty fluid shot into MacLeod’s mouth as Methos climaxed in long spurts, hips flexing, head thrown back against the dark pillows. MacLeod swallowed the last of Methos’ offering then kissed his limp flesh sliding upwards and nudging his knees apart, exposing the tender opening more fully. Quickly, MacLeod pulled his fingers out of the hot body and pressed the head of his penis into the warm tight opening. Methos’ body parted easily for him, and soon MacLeod was fully sheathed inside.

 

With a soft grunt MacLeod pulled out and thrust forward. Methos wrapped his legs around the Scot’s waist pressing his heels into the small of MacLeod’s back drawing him closer. Groaning MacLeod thrust twice more then poured himself into Methos’ body.

When he had stopped shuddering, MacLeod dropped to the side, rolling gently away from Methos so that he didn’t crush the smaller man. They lay tangled together while their heartbeats slowed, bodies returning to normal. Finally, MacLeod softened enough to slide out of Methos, and the ancient Immortal rolled over, resting his head on the Highlander’s broad chest. Mac stroked his lover’s back, soothing the other man murmuring gentle endearments almost under his breath as if afraid that Methos might reject him

Methos sighed softly, snuggling deeper into MacLeod’s warmth, clinging to the other man, letting himself be cuddled, and MacLeod grinned to himself in the dim light.

 

"Goodnight, Mac." Methos said softly eyes drifting closed

 

"Goodnight, baby."

 

"Baby! Mac don’t you think that it’s rather incongruous to call me baby?"

 

"I like it." The Highlander offered with a slight shrug. Methos sighed again, loudly, and then shrugged as well.

 

"Okay, just keep it to a minimum."

 

"So this is not just a one night kind of thing?" MacLeod asked quietly.

 

"No. I mean not unless you want it that way." Methos said yawning, as he snuggled deeper into the other man’s warmth.

 

"Methos, I’ve been waiting ten years for this. When I walked into Adam Pierson’s apartment and took one look at you I just wanted to throw you on the bed and have a go at you then."

"Maybe you should have. It might have saved us a lot of pain and trouble," Methos said quietly.

 

"No, I think the pain and trouble would have come anyway. It’s just part of who we are. Get some sleep okay you look wiped out." Mac leaned down and gently kissed the other man’s forehead. Methos yawned widely, and let his eyes drift close again. This time he didn’t move. When the other man’s body felt limp MacLeod gently rolled him over onto his side and spooned behind him. He was asleep in minutes.

 

Methos woke to the sound of gentle snoring against his ear. MacLeod was draped over him like a wool blanket, and Methos was sweating heavily. Grunting he wiggled free, stumbling to the bathroom to empty his bladder. Glancing into the mirror he grinned at himself. This trip to Seacouver was promising to be so much better than he had ever hoped. Quietly he made his way back to the bed, and slipped inside snuggling back against MacLeod. The other man wrapped his arm around his lover and nuzzled the slender neck.

 

"Good morning."

 

"Mac it’s only seven-fifteen, that hardly qualifies as morning let alone a good morning."

 

"You’re just lazy."

 

"Damn straight, and I don’t have any plans to get up soon." Methos grumped trying to hide beneath the pillow. MacLeod wrapped his arms around Methos’ waist, pulling him close.

 

 "Too bad because I’m up already."

 

"Maaaac," the ancient Immortal snorted as he rolled over...

 

Richie Ryan pulled his motorcycle into the parking spot next to MacLeod’s BMW. Carefully he tugged the helmet off, grasping it by the chin strap then turned as a blue van pulled into the space next to him.

 

Richie smiled at the middle aged man who pushed open the door of the van. Joe moved his leg out of the driver’s door tugging his cane from the passenger side seat. "Hey kid. Open that door up would you? There are a couple of books on the seat I want to drop off for Mac."

 

Opening the passenger side door, Richie lifted two leather bound volumes from the seat. The books were small, but thick and looked very old. Joe noticed Richie’s quizzical glance, and smiled. "Antique books I found in my sister’s attic. Mac’s going to appraise them for me."

 

Richie nodded. “Doesn’t look like Mac’s awake yet or maybe he went for a run?"

Quickly Richie tugged his keys back out of his jeans pocket and turned the lock. The door to the dojo opened, and Joe walked in. There was no sound coming from MacLeod’s downstairs office so Richie led Joe to the elevator, "I have a key."

 

He unlocked the grille door and then pulled it up. The elevator stopped on the third floor apartment, and Richie pushed the door up as he and Joe walked into the still darkened apartment. However, there was enough light for the interior of the room to be visible. Noises from the bed drew Richie and Joe’s attention simultaneously, and both men gaped at the image before them.

 

Methos was on his back, and Mac was laboring vigorously above him.  Methos’ back arched and he cried out loudly. Richie’s face was beet red, and Joe was sure that he was just as red. He could feel the heat creeping up from his shirt collar. Suddenly, Methos jerked his head toward the elevator door where the two men stood. His eyes widened, shoving against MacLeod’s chest he attempted to push the Highlander off him. MacLeod, however, was still thrusting vigorously, and grumbled loudly, "Don’t do that, baby. I’m going to come."

 

When MacLeod could think again he lifted his head from Methos’ chest. Noticing the horrified gaze Methos had glued to the elevator door Mac sighed loudly, "Do I even want to know?"

 

The ancient Immortal shrugged then grinned, "Possibly not."

 

Without turning around the Highlander said, "Good morning Richie?"

 

"Keep going." Methos said, "Oh and you might want to get off me."

 

Joe snickered, "I was going to wish you a good morning, but I can see that you already had one."

 

Mac flinched, rolling over and tugging the duvet over him and Methos. "Well, actually, Joe, I’ve had more than one already."

 

The Watcher flushed bright crimson again, and Richie actually cringed, "Please, Mac, TMI for this early in the morning...actually for anytime at all."

 

With a grin MacLeod said, "Why don’t you and Joe wait for us in the dojo. We’ll go get some breakfast."

 

"Good idea. Come on, Joe I’ll open Mac’s office. We’ll be down there." The two backed away from the bed almost as if they were afraid to turn around, then Richie slammed the elevator door down.

 

Mac threw the covers off, kissing his lover’s cheek he said, "I’ll be polite and let you have the bathroom first today. After that I guess we fight for it."

 

Tugging the pillow over his head Methos growled, "Oh, am I going somewhere?"

 

 Mac goosed him in the ribs, and Methos uttered a nasty curse in Gaelic. "Ooooh, I think not. You’re going down there to face them like a man. Out you go." Before he could dodge it MacLeod’s foot caught Methos in the butt sending him sliding over the satin sheets and onto the floor.

 

"You know, Highlander. This is no way to start a relationship.

 

**Austrian Border, 2002**

 

Two figures climbed slowly up the gentle grade of a hillside. The grasses of the meadow were tall, still green and supple from the recent rain. Both men huddled against the wind, faces close together trying to carry on a conversation that could be heard before being swept away on the breeze.

 

Ahead the men could see the remaining five members of the archeology team that had first uncovered the site. Dr. Anton Petrov, the lead archeologist tugged his jacket sleeve down covering the blue tattoo on his wrist. The second man, Jack Carter barely registered the action. Dr. Petrov was notorious for his eccentricities, but he was one of the foremost experts on Bronze Age burial mounds. And while is was true that the site that was now cordoned off with ropes and yellow "crime scene" tape was not a burial mound several pottery shards had been carbon dated to the Bronze Age.

 

Glancing at the other man Carter smiled, "It’s too bad that we couldn’t get that fellow in Paris to translate for us. He was a real godsend last time."

 

Petrov nodded absently, "Yes, for a young man Dr. Pierson was remarkably well versed in ancient languages. Still we’ll find someone. I don’t think the site is nearly ready for a linguist anyway. We’re still excavating. So far they’ve uncovered eight bodies. Six are remarkably well preserved. They’re still frozen solid so we can’t even begin to autopsy them, but in a few days once we’ve gotten them thawed nicely we will."

 

Petrov turned to a young woman crouching in the mud. She smiled up at him, "You know Doctor P. it was just luck that the hill side collapsed from all that rain last week. These guys have been buried here for a long time. They might have never seen the light of day if the hillside had less granite and rock in it. How old do you suppose they are?"

 

The doctor squatted down besides her reaching around to brush mud from the face of the man lying, still half buried. The tattered remnants of a fur lined cloak still rested over his face. Tugging gently Petrov managed to pull the heavy cloth back revealing the man’s face. Thousands of years of being frozen in mud and ice had left the man’s face blackened, but the skin was still completely intact if somewhat leathery. Judging from the shape of the head and length of the nose Petrov was almost certain that the man was Indo-European. And when he thawed some of the grayness might fade enough to judge his true skin color. His eyes were closed, but a second man nearby had died with his eyes open, and they, too, were intact though clouded over. Perhaps the color would remain in that man’s eyes. With a sigh the doctor continued to carefully scrape the mud away from the body.

 

"These men have been here for almost three thousand years, if the pottery shards we tested were part of their camp provisions. The weapons we also unearthed seem to be Bronze Age in design and workmanship, although they suffered extreme damage."

 

A second student suddenly rose quickly from the body he was uncovering, "Look Dr. Petrov, a dagger. And it’s almost completely intact." He hurried quickly to Petrov’s side handing the weapon to the older man.

 

"Yes. It’s beautiful. Look there are markings on the blade. See the curved symbols. There’s a complete set. A word do you think?"

 

Jack Carter rose and accepted the dagger from Petrov. "It could be. Do you know anyone at all that could translate it?"

 

Smiling Petrov glanced at Carter, "Actually yes. I have a colleague in the United States, Joe Dawson. He’s a historian, and he has access to people that might be able to translate the markings. I’m going to call him when we get back to the office. With your permission I’ll send a photo of the dagger to him."

 

Carter shrugged, "Send him the dagger if you think it will help. He’ll sign a non-disclosure agreement."

 

"Of course, I trust Joe. I’ve known him for years. I’ll send it over when I talk to him."

 

Nodding Carter stooped over hesitantly touching the cold stiff flesh of the man’s cheek, "It’s amazing how well preserved they are, at least these six. It’s almost as if when we thaw them out somehow they’d wake up."

 

**Seacouver, Washington. Watcher Headquarters**

 

The telephone rang at Laura Markum’s desk. Mumbling a curse she snatched the phone at the same time as the FAX machine beeped into life. Laura’s eyes widened as she listened to the man on the other end of the phone, and then leaned over to tug the sheet out of the FAX. "Yes, Dr. Petrov I have the photo. Actually it’s really good. No the markings are really clear, readable. I’ll call Mr. Dawson right away."

 

Four men sat around the white clothed table in the front of Victoria’s. The small café was close to Seacouver University and was popular with both the students and faculty. MacLeod sipped at his coffee and settled back glancing over at Methos. The ancient Immortal grinned, "If you keep staring people are going to talk." He snorted.

 MacLeod shrugged, "Let ‘em."

 

Joe rolled his eyes, "Come on, guys, what ever happened to not telling what we’re not asking? You know Mac; I think I liked it better when you were hostile and secretive."

 

"Yeah right, professional voyeur that you are Dawson. You’re probably the only Watcher that has first hand knowledge of "his" Immortal’s life."

 

"Actually no I’m not. This guy in London carpools with his Immortal ‘cause they work at the same office building."

 

Richie cocked his head, "Naw, really?" Joe smiled and Richie snorted.

 

"You really have got to learn not to be so gullible, kid," Methos said grinning briefly. Mac glared at him then turned to his young friend, "So Rich, the big 24 is coming up soon. I’ve given up trying to find something you’ll like and I’m desperate enough to ask. What do you want for your birthday?"

 

"Aw, you don’t have too, Mac."

 

The Scot frowned glaring at the younger man over the top of his coffee cup. Richie grinned, "Well, tickets to Demonicus would be great."

 

"To what?"

 

Methos started to answer, but Richie burst in, "Mac! Demonicus is the hottest heavy metal group in the business."

 

"Heavy metal," MacLeod sighed.

 

Methos leaned over the table and stage whispered, "That’s music, Mac, as in rock ‘n roll music."

 

"I know what it is. I’m not a complete and total philistine you know. Demonicus, sweet Mother of God. What a name. If that’s what you want I’ll get it."

 

Joe’s cell phone rang and he fished it out of his coat pocket. "Yeah," he said. "Okay, I’ll get over to my office and pick up the FAX."

 

He smiled at the bickering Immortals, "Mac, I’ve got to go something important came up, and I need to get over to the bar. Hey, are you guys coming by this evening?"

 

"Sure we’ll be there, or at least I will. What about you Rich, Adam?" Richie shrugged, "I guess I can. I’ve got to finish this classic Harley for a customer. But, I think I can swing by on the way over to Nikkie’s place. I’m picking her up at eight."

 

Methos nodded, "I don’t have anything pressing until classes start next month so I’m good. I’ll get back to the loft right now though, if you don’t mind, Mac. I’ve got to get my schedule straightened away, and start looking for an apartment."

 

Both Richie and Joe noticed the frown that crossed MacLeod’s face as he turned away. "I’ll drop you off at the loft on my way downtown."

 

Richie shuffled past Mac’s chair, "See you guys later."

 

The BMW sat in the corner of the parking lot. Methos settled into the passenger side while MacLeod started the engine. "Do you have a car, yet?"

 

"No, that’s another thing I need to work out."

 

"I thought you might stay at the loft for a little while, "MacLeod said quietly. Methos stiffened in the seat then blew his breath out.

 

"Are you talking about living together? Don’t you think that it’s a bit early? I mean one night in bed doesn’t qualify as a lasting relationship."

 

"However, five years friendship does count. I know, we haven’t been close for the past five, but well, I needed to work some things out. You’ve always stayed with me before."

 

"Yes, as a guest, not as a domestic partner."

 

"Guest, domestic partner. What’s the difference except the really great sex and the fact that I don’t have to drag your ass off the sofa in the morning?"

 

"Keep it up and you damn well will be dragging my ass off the sofa tomorrow morning, because you won’t have to worry about the really great sex." Methos glanced over at the younger man. Except for a thin sheen of perspiration over his upper lip the Highlander looked as cool and collected as the ancient Immortal had ever seen him. "I guess I could put it off for a short time."

 

On the outside the Highlander just nodded imperceptibly, but on the inside he was turning cartwheels. "I’ll get you a set of keys made when I’m out. I should be back around lunch time."

 

The Loft was filled with a wonderful aroma when MacLeod walked in. "Methos?" A voice from the kitchen pulled Mac across the loft. "This smells really good. What is it?"

"I found some left over prime rib in the fridge, so I heated it with oil and spices, for sandwiches. It’s almost finished." He smiled as MacLeod leaned over and kissed his neck.

"Oh, here," MacLeod dropped a set of keys into Methos’ outstretched hand. The other man tucked the keys in his pocket.

 

"So how goes the ticket hunt?"

 

MacLeod crossed the room to the fridge and pulled out a beer, "You want?’ he asked holding a bottle aloft."

 

"I already have one."

 

Settling on a stool at the kitchen island Mac shrugged picking up the earlier thread of their conversation on his desperate bid for a birthday gift, "No good. I went to five ticket distributors and the concert has been sold out for months. This group…"

 

"Demonicus." Methos prompted, and MacLeod winced.

 

"I am not saying that name. Richie wasn’t kidding this group is really popular. I mean even though Richie is really going to be disappointed, I’m kind of relieved. It’s not the kind of music that I… What?"

 

"You are such a snob," Methos clucked bending over to pull a small loaf of French bread out of the oven. Mac grinned at the way the soft faded denim of Methos’ jeans clung to the rounded curve of his ass. "Getting an eyeful, Mac?"

 

"Getting a couple actually. Hey, I’m starved. Is it food yet?"

 

"Yeah, it is. Here cut the bread. So you haven’t broadened your horizons musically I see."

 

When lunch was finished and the dishes washed, MacLeod settled on the sofa with the morning mail, as Methos commandeered the Highlander’s desk to work in his journals. After a few moments the Highlander glanced up. Methos tucked the pen into the journal and closed it, placing it on the corner of the desk. He rose at the same time as MacLeod and moved across the room. MacLeod ran his hands up the sides of Methos’ legs then threaded two fingers through a couple of belt loops. Tugging the other man forward until the two stood chest to chest MacLeod smiled. "I think you read my mind."

 

"I didn’t have to; it’s written all over your face." Methos said blushing.

 

MacLeod leaned forward sliding his hand up behind the nape of Methos’ neck, pulling him in until their lips met. Methos raised his hands letting his fingers tangle in the Highlander hair, brushing the soft curls away from MacLeod’s face. Their lips slid together chastely closed, until MacLeod drifted down Methos’ cheek, across the point of his chin and down to his neck.

 

Gasping, Methos backed up slowly until his knees came into contact with the edge of the bed. MacLeod slipped his hands down lifting the hem of the other man’s shirt. Methos leaned back enough for MacLeod to tug the tee-shirt up and over his head. Methos quickly divested the Highlander of his shirt, and began working on his trousers. When MacLeod stepped back to slip his trousers the rest of the way off, Methos unbuttoned the fly of his jeans. He tugged them off taking his socks with the jeans and settled back on the bed naked. MacLeod grinned, "I never truly appreciated the fact that you don’t wear underwear until now."

 

"It’s called ‘going commando’ Mac. I didn’t even know you noticed."

 

"Believe me I noticed, many, many times." MacLeod crawled across the bed, grasping Methos’ knee and walking his fingers up the slender, muscular thigh. He gently squeezed Methos’ balls, running his fingers across the tender, warm flesh.

 

"Mac," Methos gasped.

 

Prowling forward like a lion, MacLeod pushed Methos down on his back, flicking his tongue over the other man’s lips, down his neck and across his chest until he reached a tight, hard nipple. He spent a few minutes bathing the pebbled flesh with his tongue then moved across treating its twin to the same attentions. Methos slid his arms up MacLeod’s back wrapping them around his shoulders. With a quick twist of his arms, pressing upward with a leg the ancient Immortal quickly, almost effortlessly, flipped the larger man onto his back. His sharp teeth found MacLeod’s nipples nibbling and twisting at the same time. MacLeod grunted, "That was a dirty trick."

 

"I know." Methos grinned against MacLeod’s golden skin. He slid down Mac’s chest, tonguing the shallow indentation of Macleod’s navel, and then nuzzled the wiry, crisp curls surrounding the Highlander’s livid, red erection.

 

Taking a deep breath Methos inhaled the hard flesh, running his lips up and down; trying to ride the other man’s bucking hips. He took Mac deep in his throat, letting his mingled saliva and Mac’s pre-ejaculate cover the massive organ. When he had the hard flesh thickly coated, he pulled back. MacLeod moaned in protest until Methos kissed him. Quickly he straddled MacLeod’s hips taking his throbbing member in one hand. Arching his back Methos slowly settled down, impaling himself on Mac one inch at a time until he was seated on Mac’s thighs.

 

MacLeod seized Methos’ hips, feeling the flex of Methos strong thighs as he rose slowly then lowered himself on MacLeod’s thick penis. Mac thrust upward, closing his eyes, as Methos let his head drop back and groaned loudly. They moved together until finally MacLeod slammed Methos down hard, crying out as he climaxed. The sensation of hot fluid filling his bowels pushed Methos over the edge and he dug his fingers into MacLeod shoulders, and then shuddered his release.

 

When the last spasms died Methos dropped onto the Highlander’s broad chest, eyes closed. MacLeod stroked his back soothing his lover, murmuring gently. Finally, Methos slipped off MacLeod snuggling into his side. MacLeod lay close to the other man for a few minutes, until he was sure Methos was sleeping, and then slipped quietly out of the bed.

 

Rolling over Methos sat up in the bed, yawning hugely. He caught sight of MacLeod at the desk, working on the dojo account books. Macleod looked up as the other man rose from the bed. "I’m sorry. Did I wake you?"

 

"No, I guess I’m still a little jet lagged. What time is it?"

 

"About five o’clock. I was hoping you’d feel up to going over to Joe’s."

 

"Sure let me get a shower."

 

**Joe’s Bar, Seacouver**

 

Richie Ryan was seated at a table when MacLeod and Methos walked in the door. Mac waved at the young Immortal. Methos hung back, "Mac I need to run an errand,  may I use your car?"

 

"Sure," MacLeod dug the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to the other man. "I’ll wait here for you."

 

"I shouldn’t be long. Hopefully our friend," Methos nodded toward Carol, "will be off duty when I get back."

 

Snickering the Highlander squeezed the ancient Immortal’s shoulder as he turned to leave. Methos frowned, "Keep it up, Highlander, and I can guarantee that you won’t be getting any tonight."

 

"Sorry," Mac swallowed his laughter quickly. He watched Methos exit the bar, and jump into the BMW, wincing as the sound of the transmission grinding carried through the still partially opened door. Apparently Methos’ driving skills hadn’t improved any in the last five years.

 

MacLeod settled into a seat beside Richie. "So who is this Nikkie you were talking about earlier?" Richie sat his beer down motioning Carol over to the table.

 

"Hi, Mac." She said smiling. "Isn’t your little friend with you?"

 

"He isn’t my ‘little’ friend." Mac said flashing her a quick smile. Carol seemed to melt slightly then lean forward.

 

"Oh that’s good ‘cause he’s a real pain. Who is he?"

 

"Mac’s boyfriend," Richie said snidely then grunted as Macleod dug his elbow into Richie’s ribs.

 

Carol frowned slightly, "What?"

 

"I’ll just have my usual, Carol." MacLeod said glaring at the younger Immortal. "Boyfriend? We’re not going steady, Rich."

 

"Well, lover sounds kinda funny."

 

"Back to Nikkie!"

 

Richie smiled, "Yeah, she’s great. I met her at the shop the other day. Her dad owns that really cool '63 Harley we did the repair work on. Anyway I was hoping to take her to the concert, but no luck."

 

Mac winced, "Yeah, about that. I’m sorry. I didn’t have any luck either."

 

"Hey, that’s the way it goes. I didn’t think that you would. I mean I’ve been trying for weeks now."

 

"So this heavy metal stuff is a big draw?" MacLeod sipped at his beer, "I just don’t get it."

 

"That’s how I feel about Opera. I just don’t get a bunched of overdressed fruit loops squawking their lungs out."

 

"You know I once said almost the same thing to Fitz. I guess you had to be there," Mac sighed smiling over at the young man he considered his son. Richie emptied his mug, and reached for the pitcher. Noticing with dismay that the pitcher was empty.

 

"Hey! Joe. How’s it going?" the young Immortal said.

 

"Pretty good, kid. No date tonight?" Joe eased into a seat opposite Richie, and motioning for the waitress to bring another round.

 

"Bring me a mug, and another pitcher,” Joe said to Carol. They watched as she collected the empty pitcher and walked to the bar and drew another pitcher of beer; then returned with a mug, placing both of the items in front of Joe. When she had gone back to the bar Joe turned to the Highlander and asked, "So where’s the Old Man?"

 

"He should be back in a minute. He just had an errand to run."

 

The door swung open and Methos ambled in. Spotting the three men seated in the back he detoured around the bar, and headed straight for the table. Carol glared at him as he strolled past and Methos took great delight in smiling broadly at her, "Nice to see you again, Ma’am."

Joe coughed loudly, and then shoved the chair to his right at the ancient Immortal, "I don’t think she likes you very much."

 

"Gee, I’m broken hearted. What’s the chance of me getting some of that beer? "He sighed sprawling on the chair, tilting it back on the rear legs.

 

Joe smacked him on the arm. "Did you get your license?"

 

Sullenly, Methos shook his head. Mac gaped at him, "You drove my car with no license?"

 

"You didn’t ask."

 

MacLeod frowned at him, "The authorities are not very forgiving of that kind of thing, and the way you drive….."

 

"This is the thanks I get for all my hard work picking up Rich’s birthday present." Methos tugged an envelope out of his jacket pocket, and tossed it on the table in front of the younger Immortal.

 

Richie picked it, opening it tentatively then whooped, "Wow, Demonicus tickets, front roll center. Oh man, these are the primo seats, Meth…Adam how’d you get these?"

 

"I called a friend. Oh, by the way we are all invited to dinner at the Seacouver Hilton this evening at six."

 

Richie glanced at his watch gauging his desire to meet his date, the needs of his stomach and his desire to see who had invited them to dinner all at once. His stomach, as it often did, won followed closely by his curiosity. MacLeod had known the younger man long enough to follow the play of emotions, see the outcome, and give in to his desire to pay Richie back for the boyfriend remark about Methos. "So, what about your friend, what was her name?"

 

"Nikkie and I’ll have plenty of time to pick her up. She works at the Seacouver Art Museum, which is right across the street from the Hilton. Give me a little credit, Mac."

 

Joe pushed away from the table, "Uh, Adam, can I see you in my office for a minute?"

 

Methos nodded, "Sure."

 

When the door to Joe’s office closed he motioned Methos into a chair then picked a sheet of paper up off the desk. "An archeology team in Yugoslavia unearthed what they thought was a burial site, maybe Bronze Age. A friend of mine Faxed this over to me."

Methos accepted the sheet of paper Joe handed him before the Watcher asked, "Do you recognize this?"

 

"Do you mean is it mine? No, but it is Bronze Age, a dagger. A pretty good one actually; see how the blade has held its shape even though it’s corroded somewhat. And it’s in pretty good condition. The writing on it is still clear."

 

"So it is writing?"

 

"Uh hum, it’s Sumerian. Akkadian was actually the most commonly used language at that time, but some cultures still hung on to Sumerian, too. It says Ga-lam-ma. It means exalted one. Whoever used the dagger probably consecrated it to one of the gods, war or death. Were there any markings on the back?"

 

Joe shook his head. "Not that I saw. This is the only thing they sent to me."

 

Methos handed the page to the other man, "Too bad. If there were markings on the back it might have a name or even the name of the god."

 

A knock on the door startled them both, and Joe chuckled. Mac stuck his head in the door, "Methos, it’s a quarter till six."

 

"We should go. Joe come with us. I want you to meet an old friend of mine."

 

"Old friend, Adam?" the bluesman said smiling.

 

Methos patted him on the back, "Take off the Watcher hat for a while; but, yes, she is an Old Friend, a Really Old Friend."

 

The Seacouver Hilton was in walking distance of Joe’s, but to save time the three men took MacLeod’s car. He pulled in front of the building and Methos opened the rear door for Joe, helping him out. Richie bounded around the car, and caught the door to the hotel ushering the others inside, as MacLeod accepted a ticket from the valet parking attendant.

A woman’s voice caught their attention, "Adam!" she said bouncing over to the four, throwing her arms around Methos. She was almost nondescript, medium height, medium weight with shoulder length brown hair, fair skin and hazel eyes. In fact she looked enough like Methos that she could have passed for his sister, except she appeared to be about ten years older.

 

He smiled lifting her up off the ground in his exuberance. "Oh God, Abbe, it’s been too long!"

 

"I’ve told you over and over to dump that college professor crap and come on tour with the band. I always wanted my best keyboard player back."

 

MacLeod scowled at the woman’s proximity to his lover, but managed smile when Methos turned her toward the Highlander, "Mac I want you to meet Abbe Messenger."

 

"Pleased to meet you," he said smiling. Richie was standing beside MacLeod and he noticed that the younger man was caught motionless with a deer in the headlights kind of look on his face.

 

Methos motioned his friend to the younger Immortal, "Rich, this is ..."

 

"I, uh, know Abbe Messenger, wow."

 

Joe was introduced as well, and Abbe led them to the table arm wrapped firmly around Methos’ waist. Richie hung back and drew MacLeod close, "Do you know who that is?"

"Um, Abbe Messenger?" MacLeod said shaking his head.

 

"Smart ass! Come on, Mac, Abbe Messenger is the lead singer for Demonicus. Did she say Methos used to play keyboard for them? No wonder he got tickets. Hey, Mac, look I know you have this thing about people who used to bang the Old Timer; you know...like Byron."

 

"I did not kill Byron because he was banging Methos. I mean, I don’t think he was in a relationship with Methos. I mean I killed Byron because of Mike Palidini, not Methos."

 

"Yeah, right, "Richie said, then tugged Mac a bit closer so he could whisper, "Look I really, really like this band so you’re not going to whack her too, are you?"

 

"Not unless she has it coming..."

 

Dinner was a lively affair, and much to Richie’s relief it seemed as if Mac did like Abbe. She kept them amused with stories about Methos’ time with the band in the early eighties, before he assumed his Adam Pierson persona. Finally, over coffee Joe settled back against the thickly padded chair, "so how long have you two known each other?"

 

Abbe looked over at Methos and he nodded, "Well last count about 2500 years."

 

MacLeod smiled as Methos leaned closer to him. "Abbe has been a really good friend to me, even when it wasn’t always wise to be."

 

She smiled over at him, "Thos got me out a really bad situation, when he didn’t even have to get involved. One more gladiator dying in the arena, Immortal or not, was no great loss. He risked a lot for me, and I don’t take that lightly."

 

"And Abbe stood shield for me. And in a day and age when friendship didn’t count for much, loyalty wasn’t taken lightly."

 

Richie looked at his watch, "Damn it’s almost eight. I’ve got to go. It was really great meeting you." He bolted from the table. Abbe nodded at the young man. They talked for a while longer until Abbe stifled a yawn behind her hand. Methos glanced over at her.

"You look like you could use some sleep, damu."

 

"Heam, ki-ag’" she smiled taking Methos’ hand. He leaned over kissing her fingers lightly. "Call me tomorrow. Let’s get together after rehearsal. That is unless Mac and you have plans."

 

MacLeod shook his head, "Classes are out until next month, but I don’t want to intrude."

 

Abbe smiled, "It’s not like that between us, Mac. So don’t get your kilt in a twist. It never was. Thos is my brother, my friend now and forever." She clasped his forearm in the ancient warriors hand shake.

 

Methos kissed her cheek, "Rest well, damu."

 

While they were waiting for the parking attendant to bring the car around Joe nudged Methos in the back gently, "What language were you speaking?"

 

"Sumerian, I suppose you want to know what we were saying too." Methos said dryly. Joe had the grace to look embarrassed. Methos cocked his head, "Damu means little one in Sumerian. What did Abbe say to me? Heam roughly means I'll do it, and ki-ag' means love or beloved."

 

Mac dropped Joe off at the bar which was packed, but he and Methos decided to go back to the loft. Methos was still somewhat jet lagged from the flight, and they wanted to spend some quiet time alone.

 

Later, they lay tangled together after making love again. Oddly enough MacLeod's soft, rumbling snores soothed Methos, and he drifted somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. The duvet was thick and warm, and MacLeod radiated enough body heat to make his lover uncomfortable. Shifting restlessly in his twilight state, Methos turned and for a moment he wasn't in the loft in bed with MacLeod but standing in the desert, hot summer wind washing over his face. On the sand before him was a tall man dressed in leather armor and rough homespun clothes. His hair was a long tangled black mass, and his face was covered in black designs traced on in ash and woad.

 

Methos stood above the man, glancing back at Abbe, who was standing behind him, sword resting against her leg. The man raised a gleaming bronze dagger and Methos raised his foot, twisting it into the man's thigh, "A-ba geme abaa nin?" he sneered.

 

The warrior titled his head back eyes drilling into Methos' "G'-a'-e-me-en, ga-lam-ma!"

 

The dagger rose slicing through the man's own palm, blood welled slipping over the gleaming blade, cascading over Methos' boot, pooling at last on the warrior's leather clad thigh.

 

With a gasp Methos bolted upright in bed, "Oh, God no!" MacLeod jerked awake, seizing his katana from beneath the bed. Wildly he looked around for the invading Immortals, but could sense no one but Methos. His lover was scrambling over the bed, across the floor to the desk. Methos jerked the phone from its cradle and slammed a phone number in.

 

"Joe, Joe answer the phone!" He snarled. Suddenly he was talking faster than MacLeod had ever heard him. "Joe, yes, I know what damn time it is. Shut up and listen to me, it's important. Who sent you the photo of that dagger? Joe answer me. Where did they find it? Where, damn it. Yugoslavia? In the foothills above a long valley, yes? Did they find any bodies with it? How many? No, I'll tell you. Eight, but six not decomposed just frozen? Am I right? Call them now, tonight, and tell them that no matter what; they will not unthaw those bodies!"

 

**University Research Facility, Forensic Pathology, Yugoslavia**

 

The clean white and green tile of the forensic pathology lab was covered with a thin, crisp film of white frost. The layer of frost rose up from the floor in a flaky pattern like peeling wallpaper. Warm air flowed around the upper part of the room causing the frost to fade as the wall grew taller.

 

Six metal autopsy tables were arranged around the room, each bearing the partially frozen remains of the men dubbed Bronze Age Warriors A through F. The mud and ice had fallen away allowing the filthy, matted fur cloaks and clothing to be removed. Leather armor which had clothed some of the men was soaking in warm water in the hopes that it could be restored and preserved. Most of the mud had been washed from the bodies as the ice melted, although the bodies were still too frozen to be autopsied. The temperature in the lab had gradually been raised so that the bodies were not damaged by being thawed too quickly.

 

Dr. Sylvia Johnson lifted the white sheet covering the body of the largest man found at the site. The man was well over six feet tall and heavily built with a thick muscular chest and bulky arms. His thick, black hair fell around his face in tangled curls. Carefully, Dr. Johnson lifted one of the matted tresses and pulled it out of the man’s scalp.

 

Transferring the hair to a plastic bag, she labeled it with the man’s designation, and then set it aside. Slipping her latex gloves off she picked up a pen and clipboard making a note reminding herself to send the hair sample to the genetics lab for DNA testing. Finally, Dr. Johnson noted that the bodies had thawed sufficiently to raise the temperature in the lab to normal levels to complete the thawing process.

 

Quickly closing the lab door Dr. Johnson keyed in her identification code and turned to see Jack Carter striding down the corridor toward her. Flashing a brief smile Carter said, "How’s it going, Doc?"

 

"Oh! Mr. Carter, good, really a lot better than I expected," she held up the bag containing the hair sample. "I’m sending this to the labs, they should be able to separate a soil sample out, and they should be able to get a better date for the site, and I’m having some DNA testing done. I’ve noticed three distinct ethnic types among the bodies, one is Egyptian or Ethiopian, three are Arabic looking and two are Indo-European. Recent research suggests that the Pit Mound Cultures of the late Neolithic and Bronze Age spread from Russia all throughout Western Europe. The fact that these men are part of the group seems to indicate that their migration patterns were much wider than previously thought going all the way down into the Mesopotamian area."

 

"That’s interesting, are the bodies unfrozen enough to begin working on them?"

 

"Yes, well, almost. Tomorrow I’ll begin the physical examinations. I am so pleased how well preserved they are. I could swear I saw one move." She laughed lightly.

 

Carter smiled at her then nodded, "I was hoping Dr. Petrov would be here when we started the actual exams."

 

"Well, you know Dr. Petrov is an archeologist first and foremost. He took some of the pottery shards, weapons and small pieces of armor into Keshena to ship to the United States to his friend, that historian. He’s going to try and identify some of the pieces and translate any writing found on it. Petrov probably won’t be back until tomorrow."

 

"I’ll try to give him a call later tonight then, in case he doesn’t know we’re ready," Carter said.

 

Dr. Johnson shook her head, "Phone lines are down again."

 

Carter shrugged, "Aren’t they always."

 

**Joe Dawson’s residence, Seacouver**.

 

Joe stared at the telephone as if it was a poisonous snake. Methos had shouted at him in a voice more panicked than Joe had ever heard before. Trying to force down the growing sense of unease he felt Joe pulled his wheelchair over to the bedside, and then shuffled into it. Rolling the chair to his writing desk the Watcher picked up his day planner and flipped to the address directory. A large number of neatly typed pages fell open and he ran a finger down the column until he came to Andy Petrov’s name and numbers. Quickly he dialed a cell phone number. Many years of experience had taught him that the telephone lines in Yugoslavia were almost as ancient as his annoying friend. Glaring at the clock on the desk he tried to do the mental calculations on the time difference and figured that it was one o’clock in the afternoon, tomorrow.

 

Sighing Joe settled back listening to the phone ringing. The longer the phone rang the more worried the Watcher became.

 

"Hello," the woman’s voice was deep and throaty and Joe felt a shiver run along his spine in spite of himself. Helena Petrov could make a fortune in the phone sex business as long as no one ever got a good look at her. Joe cringed as an image of Arnold Schwarzenegger in drag came to mind.

 

"Hi, Helene, it’s Joe Dawson."

 

"Joe, darling, how are you?" she said her delight clearly conveyed over the tenuous telephone connection.

 

There went that pesky shiver again. Joe said, "Fine, is Andy around?"

 

"Oh, I’m so sorry, Joe. He had to go to Keshena and won’t be back until later."

"Did he take his cell phone?"

 

"Joe I’m talking to you on it." She said indulgently. Joe nodded even though he knew she couldn’t see him.

 

"Helena it’s really important; please tell him to call me. Are the phone lines to his office working?"

 

"No, all the phone lines are down. That’s why I have his cell phone. Mine accidentally fell off the car roof." she _tasked_ disgustedly at that thought.

 

"How did it fall off the car roof?" Joe asked then mentally slapped himself for it. Panic settled deep in the pit of his stomach when she drew a deep breath. As much as he liked Helena Petrov the woman could gasp out an entire conversation with her dying breath.

 

"I was talking to my mother yesterday and put the phone on the roof when I put the kids in the car, and just drove away."

 

"Well, it was great talking to you," Joe cut in when she paused, wincing at how rude he was being. But she said, "Yes, you too, I will give Andy the message."

 

Joe hung up quickly, and then dialed the phone number for Andy’s office. He cursed under his breath when he got a recorded message that the telephone number he was trying to reach was temporarily out of service.

 

**MacLeod’s Loft, Seacouver.**

 

Methos sat on the sofa with a cup of Mac’s strong coffee cradled in his palm. His face was pale and drawn, the dark purple smudges under eyes testament to his lack of sleep. Mac sat on the huge, overstuffed chair opposite the coffee table, "Are you sure these are the same guys?" he asked.

 

Methos grimaced, "Mac, these are not the kind of people you forget."

 

"I mean maybe it is a coincidence. These men might not even be Immortals."

 

"Mac, if there is anything that I’ve learned in 5000 years it’s that there is no such thing as a coincidence. If Mother Nature can find a way to screw you over she will."

 

"Methos, do you know how that sounds? I mean really..."

 

"Paranoid," the ancient Immortal supplied, "Yeah, well, just because you’re paranoid it doesn’t mean that they aren’t out to get you."

 

The Highlander cringed. Once again trying to follow his lover’s convoluted thought processes gave him a headache. "Let’s just see what Joe says."

 

"I know what Joe is going to say," Methos snorted as MacLeod settled back with the telephone cradled against his cheek dialing Joe’s number. He carried a terse conversation with the watcher then hung up. After a moment he dropped the phone back onto the table.

 

"He can’t reach them."

 

"Why am I not surprised?" Methos said, "What did I tell you?"

 

"Maybe we should fly over there," MacLeod began, but his lover interrupted angrily.

 

"Fly over there? The Immortal WWF tag team champs are quietly defrosting in some toasty little university lab, and you want to go in there blade drawn and start swinging!" Methos slammed the coffee mug down on the table, sloshing hot liquid over his hand and the wooden tabletop. Mac frowned, but the ancient Immortal held up a hand, "Look Mac these are not nice boys, not only do they play in your sandbox without asking, they steal all the toys, the sand and the box, and then they kick the shit out of you."

 

The Highlander rose out of his chair looming above the ancient immortal, "Don’t treat me like a child. I may not be some 5000 year old all knowing enigma, but I have been around a while, and when we’ve sparred I put you down on the ground a time or two!"

 

Methos was off the sofa before MacLeod even heard the cushions creaking. The Highlander found himself on the floor with his arm twisted behind his back, pressed against his shoulder blade. Pain shot up his arm, across his shoulder and down his spine when a bony, knee was jammed into the small of his back. Growling MacLeod tried to throw the smaller man off. Methos jerked his arm harder, digging his fingers into the joint, and MacLeod subsided when he felt both the elbow and the shoulder begin to separate.

 

"These men served under the Horsemen! At the end we had men coming from three continents to join us. Ninety-five percent of them didn’t survive the initial interview. These men did!"

**University Pathology Lab, Yugoslavia**.

 

Dr. Sylvia Johnson hummed brightly, if tunelessly, to herself as she walked down the corridor to the lab. Her early morning meeting with the head of the DNA lab had been extremely productive, even if the actually testing wouldn’t be completed for some weeks yet. Still the lab had also managed to comb out a good soil sample for analysis and carbon dating. Jack Carter was going to be very pleased with the way things were going, in fact she was going to inform him of the results of her meeting when she reached the lab. He should be waiting for her in the pathology department.

 

When Dr. Johnson turned the corner of the hall Carter was standing outside the door, waiting patiently. He would never consider entering the lab without her although he had the code to the keypad. In fact, he smiled broadly, waving a Styrofoam cup at her as she drew near. She smiled; it was Carter’s sunny disposition as well as his absolute respect and confidence in his workers that made Jack Carter such a joy to have as a boss. Dr. Johnson gratefully accepted the cup sighing heavily as she breathed in the aroma of the rich French coffee, "Uhmm, just what I needed," she said winking.

 

Carter blushed even though he was a good ten years younger than the doctor.

 

"I am really excited about beginning the exams this morning," She continued, "the bodies will be well thawed. I intend to start with the large Indo-European male, Warrior A."

 

"He certainly must have been impressive a couple of thousand years ago. I mean he’s big even by today’s standards.”

 

"Oh, yes. People were considerably smaller in the Bronze Age, even up to the ancient Greeks and Romans. Augustus Cesar was five feet-six and he was considered average height for a Roman male in his time period. People have gotten steadily taller. It’s going to be hard to judge their ages. The harsher living conditions, poor hygiene and poor nutritional quality of the food tended to 'age' people more, and considering that the average life span in the Bronze Age was forty-five to fifty years they could be younger than their physical appearance suggests."

 

"Is there any physical markers you can use to help judge?" Carter asked curiously.

 

"Not really, a lack of scars might indicate a shorter time to be subjected to physically damaging injuries and that could translate to a younger age at death, or just a considerable amount of luck. Smooth skin that’s not sun damaged, thin facial and body hair, and better teeth also will indicate a younger age at death. From the initial exams I’ve done I’d say that they range in age from twenty to thirty-five."

 

"The big one is well over six feet tall."

"Oh yes, I’ll bet he was thought of as a giant, a man your height or better would have been head and shoulders above the average male."

 

He smiled, "Of course those bronze swords we found were still quite heavy, even damaged. It must have been some trick to fight with one. I went by the carbon testing room; Tom and Brad have cleaned off the corrosion and are studying the blades. They’re still in fairly good condition, almost useable"

 

"I suppose it was a real trick to fight with one. Ancient Greek and Roman myths are filled with tales of glorious battles fought by noble warriors. It was probably quite an exciting time to live. Of course, these men predate the Greeks and Romans by a good bit of time. It’s so hard to imagine what life must have been like for them."

 

Dr. Johnson smiled, "Are you ready? Just remember that the lab is quite warm because the air conditioning is not on, and be ready for the odor. Hopefully they aren’t putrid. I didn’t see any external evidence of decomposition, but the internal organs might have began to putrefy."

 

"They were buried pretty far down, under a layer of ice that had been covered by granite chips and loose gravel then covered over by mud and more ice. I don’t think that even the summer temperatures had unthawed them. If it wasn’t for that unseasonable rain, and the flash flooding bringing the hillside down we would have never found them."

 

Carter punched in his key code and opened the door, both of them were immediately assailed by the sent of stuffy uncirculated air and human sweat. There was no smell of decay in the room. Dr. Johnson paused at her desk and pulled the surgical garb she had left the night before out of a drawer. She watched Carter cross the room to the table bearing warrior A. Pulling away the sheet covering the body Carter leaned forward. He brushed his fingertips over the man’s cheek, oddly feeling stubble and greasy sweat. With a grimace he rubbed his fingers together, "It feels like he’s sweaty."

 

Johnson smiled, tugging on her latex gloves, and moving closer to the table her back to the resting place of the tall slender Egyptian. "It’s just condensation. There should not be any body fluids left; that includes sweat."

 

Carter shrugged then leaned over again, "His eyes are open."

 

"Well, that happens sometimes. Muscle contractions." She reached across the desk to pull a tray of instruments over picking up a scalpel. "Did you want to be here for the actual autopsy?"

 

He cringed, "No, hey look, he has a tattoo on his chest, under the arm." Quickly Carter leaned over trying to move the man’s arm.

 

Suddenly, the body jerked and Carter yelped. The sheet was flung away as warrior A slammed his arm against Carter’s chest bringing his other hand up and around to seize the smaller man’s throat. Dr. Johnson uttered a short, shrill scream and dropped the scalpel as the Egyptian warrior also rose flinging away his covering. Moving silently and swiftly he retrieved the fallen scalpel, then seized Johnson’s arm dragging her close to him. He glanced at the other man who twisted his fingers into Jack Carter’s neck. A terrible snapping and popping sound carried to Dr. Johnson’s ears and her eyes widened as the big warrior continued twisting until the smaller man’s head was torn away from his body, the bright crimson spray of blood splashing over the big man’s chest and the white sheet now draping the metal exam table.

 

The Egyptian shoved Dr. Johnson forward turning to the large man, "Jephus, where do you think we are?"

 

"I think that is more important to ask _when_ we are? I think that Methos has left us frozen for a very long time." Jephus strode forward touching Dr. Johnson’s cheek. "Well, at least some things have not changed, have they, Selual?"

 

Jephus snarled at Dr. Johnson, "Where are our clothes, woman?"

 

Shivering she shook her head to indicate that she didn’t understand. Selual tugged her arm sharply, but the bigger man slapped her across the face, "Answer me!"

 

"Perhaps she does not understand. We have no idea how long we were frozen, or what language these people speak."

 

Nodding Jephus agreed, "We will round up all the slaves we can, and set up camp while we wait for Methos and Abtimvia to come back..."

 

Turning to the other men still seated on the metal examination tables Jephus roared, "Get up! We have no time for lying about. We have a camp to set up. I would not want to be caught naked and unarmed by our Lord Death..."

 

Wrapping the sheet around his body like a toga Jephus walked to the lab door, dragging Sylvia Johnson after him. The remaining warriors also clothed themselves with sheets and followed their temporary leader. The big man jerked Dr. Johnson’s arm, pulling her face to face with him, "Where are our clothes and weapons?" he asked snarling when she cringed away from him. "Gods, woman, are you feeble?"

 

Selual smiled shaking his head, "Aren’t they all? Still those two brought us here; she should be able to show us where they are."

 

The Egyptian motioned for Jephus to hand him the scalpel. When he had it, Selual tugged Dr. Johnson’s arm making a thrusting motion forward with the scalpel. She watched him a few times then nodded, pointing to the door to the carbon dating room. The Egyptian clapped Jephus on the shoulder "See I told you she didn’t understand. I think she means that out swords are in that room."

 

"Well, not all of us have your charming way with women, Selual" the big man snorted and his companions laughed. The Egyptian smiled broadly.

 

Carefully, the men approached the door to the room. Jephus motioned one of the other men forward and he kicked the door opened. Only Tom and Brad Henning were in the small lab working on the soil samples that Dr. Johnson had given them the night before. The young men stood frozen as six sheet clad men, dragging their lead researcher burst into the room. Two of the warriors rushed the younger men wrestling them to the ground. Heavy twine was grabbed from the table and used to bind their hands. Jephus also used the twine to secure Dr. Johnson.

 

On several long wooden tables along the far wall were the now cleaned heavy fur cloaks, leather clothing and armor. Jephus and Selual studied the sodden cloth and leather angrily. "Well, these are better than nothing." Jephus said flatly. Lifting a ragged shirt he turned to Dr. Johnson. She shrugged and he slapped her again, this time hard enough to knock her to the ground. One of the young lab assistants struggled to free himself from the grasp of the young warrior holding his arm. The man dug his fingers into the pressure point in his wrist and the young assistant dropped to his knees gasping in pain.

 

"Dr. Johnson," the second young man said, "I think they want clothes. The wool shirts they were wearing weren’t salvageable, but the leather and armor was. Maybe we should get them lab smocks to wear for shirts, they’re heavy cotton."

 

The tall warrior glanced at his somewhat smaller second in command. They watched the conversation between the doctor and Brad Henning. Dr. Johnson wiped at the thin streak of blood running from her lip then nodded. She pointed at Brad, watching as the young warrior holding him loosened his grip. Brad led the man to the metal cabinet in the back of the room pulling several heavy, black cotton work shirts from the shelves. The young warrior motioned for the lab assistant to bring the shirts with him. Carefully, the warriors dressed themselves in the black shirts and their own damp leather trousers.

They sorted through the armor scattered across the table, all neatly cleaned and labeled. Several men were missing small pieces of armor, straps, knife sheaths, belts and sword scabbards, or wrist guards, but enough of the armor was left intact that the men were able to clothe themselves. Finally, dressed in full battle gear the men retrieved their swords from the remaining work tables. Tom and Brad had used an acid bath to strip away the heavy layers of corrosion leaving the solid bronze blades still whole, but dull and pitted.

Selual ran his thumb along the edge of his blade frowning, "These blades are going to need sharpening, but they’ll still work."

Jephus nodded.

 "Let’s go through the entire building and round up anyone we can find. Pushing Dr. Johnson in front of him, the big warrior motioned the others to spread out. The men moved down the corridors, "Pair up and search everywhere, then return here."

**University Security Facility**

A lone dark green car drove slowly down the long drive way leading to the University Research Facility. The drive wound its way through the meadows that lead up to the hillside where the archeological excavations were being done. The car passed by the gardens, still fresh and green from the spring rains, and the tall sparkling green houses filled with a multitude of fruit trees and vegetable beds, even a rice paddy. The green houses were just visible above the tops of the gray oak trees lining the thin rutted road. Finally, the car turned into the parking lot, far above the entrance to the labs. Usually a security guard was sitting in the small wooden building, filled with several banks of computer monitors that displayed almost every room in the laboratory facility below.

Andy Petrov waited patiently for the guard to open the steel mesh gate in the chain link fence surrounding the facility. When several minutes had passed he opened his car door walking over to the wooden building. The door swung open at his touch, but the room was empty. Petrov walked over to the guard’s lone desk picking up the telephone. He turned the monitors watching the flickering images of the empty corridors.

Frowning Petrov replaced the phone on its cradle leaning forward as several figures walked into the corridor leading to the pathology labs. Suddenly he gasped. Two leather and armor clad men were hustling the lone security guard between, one holding a large sword. The second man pressed a dagger against the guard’s throat. Cursing the lack of sound on the computer monitors, Petrov watched as the guard was shoved roughly into line with Dr. Sylvia Johnson, and two of her student research assistants.

Carefully lifting the telephone again Petrov prayed silently and crossed his fingers at the same time. "Yes, operator," he said. "I need to be connected to the Andle Historical Library in Vienna, Austria please."

**Joe’s Bar, Seacouver**

Joe was leaning against the bar when Macleod walked in, Methos trailing behind him. The two Immortals took a table at the back of the room, and Joe filled a pitcher with beer setting it carefully on the table along with two mugs. Joe glanced up at Methos pinched features and then over at MacLeod, who shrugged. He poured a mug and slid it across the table to the ancient Immortal who nodded gratefully taking a long sip, closing his eyes to better enjoy the flavor. "So I guess I’m no longer exiled?"

Joe chuckled tiredly, "Carol’s off today." He offered by way of an explanation, "Of course, if the cops show up and think you’re underage I’ll throw you to the wolves so fast it’ll make your head spin."

"I went easy on the hair gel today, see no spikes. My head is already spinning and believe me I’ve faced down more wolves than you can ever imagine."

Easing into a seat the Watcher filled his own mug, sipping at the cold beer, "So what are we up against?"

"You’ve spent too much time around the Boy Scout," Methos snapped. "We are not up against anything"

.MacLeod glared at him over the rim of his mug, "Yet." He added.

Methos glared back at the younger Immortal. "Look, I’ve already explained that these are not the kind of guys that you want to get involved with...quickly." He mumbled.

Joe nodded in agreement, "We don’t know for sure that anything is wrong yet. I mean the phone lines in Yugoslavia are notoriously bad. I haven’t heard from Andy, yet.

"If he could. Is Dr. Petrov aware of the nature of his find?" MacLeod asked stiffly.

Joe nodded, "Yeah, he’s a Watcher, but no one else at the university is a Watcher and I’m sure none of them knows about Immortals."

The Highlander flicked the beer mug idly, "What do we do?"

Tapping his fingers against the table Methos drew a deep shuddering breath, "What I have so often told you about unforeseen circumstances. Standard response -- do nothing."

Suddenly both Immortals sat up stiffly, heads cocked in the familiar radar gesture that Joe knew meant they had sensed another of their kind. The door swung open and Abbe Messenger walked into the room. Spotting Methos at the table she smiled, quickly walking toward them. Tugging a chair over from the closest table, Abbe sat down. Joe rose to draw another pitcher of beer, but Methos interrupted him, "Abbe doesn’t drink alcohol. She’ll want Diet Coke." Abbe smiled at him.

“Yeah, when I do finally bite the big one, and they autopsy my body they’ll probably find out my blood is fifty-percent Diet Coke by volume.”

Joe pulled a cold soda from the cooler behind the bar, and poured it into a frosted glass. Abbe accepted it with nod, and glanced over at the silent Immortals sitting at the table. "What’s wrong?" she asked quietly.

"Maybe nothing," Joe offered hopefully but was quickly silenced by a growl from the Highlander. Finally he ventured "Some scientists in Yugoslavia found a dagger that Methos seems to think belongs to some old friends of yours."

"Kronos?" she said turning to Methos.

He shook his head, "No, that little problem went by the wayside a bit over five years ago."

"Thos? You killed him." She paused as the ancient Immortal shook his head again.

"No, I didn’t -- couldn’t -- not any more. Macleod can be thanked for that little service to humanity. Jephus, Selual and the others, in the meadows on the caravan trails."

"Oh gods." Abbe said face ashen. Brushing her hair out of her eyes she quickly took a long sip of the cold soda.

Methos nodded, "Right now we’re hoping that they’re still frozen solid."

The telephone ringing pulled Joe away from the table. Moving to the end of the bar he quickly picked it up turning so that he was facing the door. With his back to MacLeod and the others they couldn’t hear his conversation. When Joe had hung up the phone he moved back to the table, "Well you can forget that. Andy Petrov just called the Austrian Watchers headquarters and told them to call me. The six men they dug up are alive and kicking, and have ten hostages in the University Research Center near Keshena."

MacLeod sighed, "What are they going to do?"

"Send in a group of Watchers to try and take care of it."

Methos laughed hollowly, "Watchers? They send a bunch of Watchers in there are they only going to end up dead or worse they _and_ the hostages will end up dead."

Joe shook his head, "They’ll be armed with guns. I mean these guys have never seen guns before, right?"

**University Research Center, Greenhouse #1**

Frank Lassen limped along held firmly between his two large captors. The security guard had been jumped by the two men dressed in black work shirts and leather armor, and now found himself hustled into the building leaving the gatehouse empty. The heavy steel mesh gates leading into the parking lot were closed keeping anyone from getting in, not that any one by the few staff members at the facility ever came down the rutted road leading to the facility.

Although his hands had been bound when the men jumped him Lassen soon discovered that one of the waxed threads on the twine had broken loose. His hands were bound so tightly that he was rapidly loosing the feeling in his fingers still, he picked at the thread worrying it loose, feeling the bindings loosen slightly. His arm rested lightly on the gun holstered at his hip, trying to keep his captors from seeing the weapon.

The first thread gave way more and another strand worked its way loose. Keeping his face absolutely neutral Lassen continued picking at the threads and by the time that they had reached the Greenhouse he was free. Draping the now useless twine over his wrists Lassen walked meekly behind the two men. Slowly the guard lowered his hand to his side as much as possible without his captors noticing he was free. He slipped his fingers around touching the gun butt. He could get one clean shot before they realized what he was doing, and Lassen settled on the largest man in the group hoping that seeing their leader go down would confuse or even frighten the others.

He glanced at the men unsure of the protective strength of the leather armor they wore, which covered their upper bodies like bullet proof vests. He settled for crippling--not killing; aiming for the upper arm. He still couldn’t figure out why the men were in costume and since radically militant actors didn’t seem viable he settled on cultists of some kind.

Behind the men the guard could see Dr. Sylvia Johnson and the student research assistants working in the greenhouse plots. The women seemed to be gathering vegetables while the two young men divided their time between the fruit trees and drawing water from the sprinklers. Lassen didn’t see Dr. Petrov or Jack Carter among the hostages.

The big leather clad man, and a darker skinned man who seemed to be his second in command were standing beside a roaring fire they had started in a fire pit dug in the ground. The two young men hustling Lassen along pushed him toward the big man.

When he had drawn close enough to get a good look at the big man Lassen could see rust colored stains on his hand and arms. Somehow the guard didn’t think that either the archeologist or project leader would be joining them.

"He is the last of them," the younger man holding Lassen’s left arm said shoving him forward. As the big man turned toward them Lassen pulled the gun snapping off one shot.

From somewhere in the field one of the girls started to scream. Dr. Johnson ran to her murmuring quietly. The hostages stood gaping as the big man clasped his shoulder and snarled, whirling toward the security guard. It was only an open handed slap that took Lassen across the face, but it was all but a knock out blow. Lassen lay sprawled on the floor not moving, as Jephus picked up the gun then turned to Selual, “Did he hit me with this thing?"

"Yes," the Egyptian replied as he watched the bigger man fumble with the strange weapon. "It did seem so; it must be a weapon of some kind." Selual raised his hand pointing his finger at the gun. Jephus squeezed the gun butt, fingers curving around to the trigger, and the Egyptian added motioning to the trigger, "He pulled at the lever, there."

The second shot rolled like thunder and both men gasped as a bright spray of blood jettisoned out of the guard’s head, splattering the glass wall, tiny bits of bone and flesh littering the crimson stain. Turning to his men Jephus raised the gun, "This is a weapon. Do not let anyone point a weapon like this in your direction.”

Dr. Johnson clutched the sobbing student to her, and the sounds of sobbing faded as she stared at the guard’s lifeless body.

**Joe’s Bar, Seacouver**

"So what do we do?" Abbe asked as she walked across the silent bar to the jukebox in the corner.

"There isn’t much we can do. Andy Petrov just called me, Watcher H.Q. in Vienna is sending out a Watcher retrieval team in the morning their time which was about an hour ago. Until we hear from them there is nothing we can do.”

"So we wait. Might as well get comfortable boys, we are in for a long night." Abbe said feeding quarters into the jukebox. Joe nodded as she settled into a seat beside him. He rose stiffly cocking his head at the low, throaty voice coming from the jukebox, "Man that woman could cry while she was singing."

Abbe smiled up at him, "Oh yeah." Slowly she rose swaying slight to the music, "Want to dance?"

He blushed, "I don’t dance well, anymore." He said quickly, but she touched his chest running her fingers lightly over his shoulder and down his arm. Raising her arms to his neck Abbe slid closer until their bodies met, and Joe slipped his hands around her waist. The two swayed to the music, "See," she whispered, "You dance like an angel."

Joe flushed smiling as Methos and Macleod watched. The music started again, the first soft strains of the piano, then the deep melancholy voice, and Abbe laid her check against Joe’s chest.

MacLeod rose to stand beside his lover and Methos craned his neck looking up at the younger Immortal, "Mac?" The Highlander reached down his hand tugging the ancient Immortal to his feet. Methos glared at MacLeod, "You are out of your mind."

Without a word MacLeod pulled Methos closer guiding him with a slight pressure to the small of his back. Methos blushed, "This is ridiculous, Mac." He hissed, "I feel like Nero fiddling while Rome burns."

"We don’t know that Rome is burning. And we haven’t been asked to put out the fire yet, if it is burning." Methos sighed leaning into MacLeod and the other man asked, "Did you know him?"

Methos bent slightly to press his check into the curve of the other man’s neck, "Him who? Nero?"

<"Uhmm hum." MacLeod said softly.

"Are you kidding? I gave him his first fiddle."

Joe raised an eyebrow at the Highlander’s loud disbelieving snort then tucked Abbe’s head under his chin. Abbe must have set the music to repeat a dozen times, because the first familiar strains of the piano began to pour out of the jukebox yet again. And MacLeod leaned over to whisper in Methos’ ear, "Let’s go home. You were angry when we left this morning and I didn’t get to start the day quite like I had hoped."

"Well, I'm not angry now," Methos said. "I’ll get my coat. Why don’t you pull the car around front." MacLeod nodded his agreement, waving briefly as Joe and Abbe shuffled around a bit and then waved back in return. Methos patted Abbe’s back and then gently squeezed Joe’s arm, "Goodnight, kids," he said.

Abbe and Joe smiled.

MacLeod’s BMW was parked at the curb, and Methos climbed in. As the car pulled away outside, Abbe smiled up at Joe and asked, "Have you ever slept in the Presidential Suite of the Seacouver Hilton?"

Joe shook his head, and her smile widened, "Do you want to?"

**MacLeod’s Loft**

Methos had barely closed the door to the elevator when the Highlander tackled him. Now he lay on the deep wool rug on the loft floor moaning appreciatively as MacLeod labored over his prone body. Somehow knowing that MacLeod was reacting to what he perceived as a threat to his lover did not dull the ancient Immortal’s pleasure as MacLeod was driven by a fanatical need to touch and possess him.

So Methos lay under the hot, sweaty body uttering soothing nonsensical phrases as MacLeod pounded into him. Tightening his legs around Macleod’s waist Methos arched his back using his ankles to pull the Highlander’s body even closer savoring the exquisite slide of hard flesh deep inside him. MacLeod was thrusting into Methos hard enough to propel him across the rug. Methos could feel the heat and friction as his shoulders and back slid over the deep wool fibers, and knew that he would have rug burns, but still urged his lover on with breathless whispers. "Oh yes, Duncan! Harder!"

The whispers caught suddenly in his throat as MacLeod jerked Methos’ hips off the floor and his thrusts became shorter and more urgent. Back arching, gasping and crying out Methos bent forward fingers clutching MacLeod’s broad shoulders with bruising force. The clenching of Methos’ muscles wrung MacLeod’s own orgasm from him with a growl. He continued thrusting shallowly for a few moments before collapsing on the smaller man’s chest, head tucked under the other man’s chin.

Grunting when the air was driven from his body, Methos then combed his fingers through the sweat-dampened locks of MacLeod’s hair that spilled over his chest and shoulder in shimmering waves. He could feel MacLeod’s smile against his skin then the Highlander said, "I’ll get off you in a minute."

"S’okay," Methos replied gently, "Stay awhile." Wrapping his arms around MacLeod’s neck Methos pressed his cheek against the other man’s head, a contented sigh bubbling up from deep within him. He carefully weaved his fingers through a few more curls until a deep rumbling buzz vibrated against his chest. With a start Methos tugged on the lock of hair, "MacLeod?"

A jerking cough answered him then the Highlander said sheepishly, "I wasn’t asleep."

With a snort the ancient Immortal pushed his lover to his knees then pulled him to his feet, "Come on shower and then bed."

**MacLeod’s Loft, Seacouver, 2:00 a.m.**

Somehow Methos knew he was dreaming, yet it did nothing to dim the feelings of terror he got as Kronos leaned over tugging Methos’ long, dark hair. Obligingly Methos leaned forward shivering in revulsion as his 'Brother’s' lips, still greasy with the roasted meat he had been eating, slipped over Methos’ mouth. The young slave girl holding the wine jar giggled inopportunely and the leader of the Horsemen glared up at her. Face ashen she stilled her trembling hands long enough to pour wine into the clay cup that Kronos raised up to her, almost daring her to spill one drop of the sparkling red liquid. The cup filled smoothly two thirds of the way and she hesitated but he raised an eyebrow and she filled it to the brim, never wavering.

She drew a deep breath backing away, until Caspian’s hand closed over her ankle. She shrieked then jerking away and the clay jar bobbled, wine slopping over the top, splattering Silas. The big man wiped at the few drops of fluid as the girl stood barely breathing. He grinned seizing the jar and chugging the wine letting it cascade over the front of his shirt, and Kronos laughed.

The girl sighed turning to leave and Silas, moving silently and quickly for so large a man, grabbed her thigh squeezing the flesh in his giant hand. The girl struggled briefly before the sickening crunch of bone breaking drew her attention. Her perfect red bow of a mouth opened but no sound came out, and Silas released her, watching as she stumbled then fell. She lay on her back as the big man patted his wet shirtfront wiping the red liquid over her face, closing her eyes. She lay whimpering and Caspian growled, "Finish her, Silas, her whining is annoying."

Silas sniffed, "Can’t take it, Brother?"

Methos grimaced, "Why did you do that, Silas?" He rose swiftly, and then knelt beside the injured slave. She looked up at him in mute appeal, and Methos touched her face then slipped his fingers around her slender throat, once again the air was shattered by the sound of rending bone.

“Merciful Death, eh, Brother?" Kronos said snidely as Methos settled onto the thick rug beside his leader. Kronos leaned over him again, "Did you like her?"

Methos paused considering his reply but not long enough to give Kronos cause for anger. "She was quiet, and she was reasonably well trained."

"I shall find you another quiet one then," Kronos said simply. Methos looked across the fire where Abtimvia and Kronos’ shield arm were settled. One of the slave women was seated in his lap; wriggling, and Abbe looked seriously annoyed. Methos smiled over at her, "I believe we have another rider seeking to join us. Fetch him over, Abbe."

She rose smoothly sauntering to the tents that housed the horses. Between the tents a tall, bulky man was standing. Once he came close enough for the fire to light him Methos could see that he was as big as Silas, but a little younger with long thick black curls and fair skin.

Kronos nodded to Abtimvia, "Break him in." He ordered with a sly grin. Many of the men who came to the Horsemen’s camp were shocked to be ordered to fight a woman, but most underestimated her and died rather spectacularly. Abbe was not noted for her patience with egotistical men.

The big foreigner balked sneering down at the small, compact form clad in white woolen garments. "Just because she wears pants doesn’t make her a fighter."

"Oh?" Kronos smiled indulgently. Methos grinned glancing over at Abbe’s still face. He could see the thunderclouds gathering and held up a hand. She shrugged leaning on her sword, and Kronos said, "I thought you came to ride with the Horsemen?"

The big warrior nodded, "Yes. With _men_."

"Methos, would you do the honor?" Kronos said, and his Brother nodded.

"Of course." Kronos’ second in command rose smoothly moving across the camp with the easy, loose limbed grace of a dancer. The man snorted as Methos pushed his hair out of his face glaring up at his larger opponent.

"What?" The warrior snarled, "First a woman... now a boy?"

Silas gaped as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, "And they call me slow witted." He chuckled, moving over as Abbe walked past motioning for her to sit beside him. She settled on the wool rug between the big Horseman and Kronos. The leader of the Horsemen nodded absently to her as she leaned against Silas before turning his attention to the two men squaring off in the center of the eating area.

"You have a name?" Methos asked sliding the sword from its scabbard, the blade glinting in the firelight. The sword was beaten iron and other metals forged as an alloy, lighter and harder than the bronze blade the other man wielded.

"Jephus."

"Well, Jephus, come on."

With a gasp the big man dodged the dagger that Methos had tugged from the sheath at his waist throwing it underhand and up as he swung his sword across at chest level. The hard blade stroked upward on the back swing and Jephus was hard pressed to parry the blow, but he managed although he took a glancing cut across the ribs. He grunted using his left wrist guard to bat the sword away.

"Well, he’s quicker than he looks," Caspian said, but Kronos waved him away.

"Methos hasn’t even started yet."

Circling the two men exchanged a round of blows, dodging and parrying Methos moving forward with the sword then dancing back avoiding the crushing left hand blow from Jephus’ fist.

Suddenly the bigger man stuck a sharp side blow, raking his sword across Methos body; the sword blades rang against each other, sparks flying. Methos’ harder blade bit into the softer bronze metal and Jephus tried to use his greater weight to tug the sword out of his smaller opponent’s grasp. With a flick of his wrist Methos cut a small slice out of the bronze blade then stepped smoothly under the swing jamming his elbow into the big man’s meaty ribs, "Fool! Defend yourself."

Growling Jephus whirled slapping out, but Methos dodged the blow cutting up with his sword and the big man was forced to jump back to avoid being impaled on the blade. As he swung his sword forward to deflect Methos’ backstroke Jephus moved back into range and Methos ducked briefly seizing the second dagger he had sheathed in his boot thrusting up towards the man’s unprotected belly. Jephus managed to slap the knife with his wrist guard snarling at almost being caught out by the same trick again. Instead of backing away he shoved his hand between Methos’ legs grabbing his testicles.

Methos grunted as the big fingers tightened on his most sensitive parts, and the bigger man smiled but Methos just closed his thighs squeezing the man’s hand between his legs. Jephus’ eyes’ widened and he froze until Methos slammed the hilt of his sword against the bigger man’s temple staggering him.

Limping, still hurting, and completely pissed off, Methos growled and Jephus reeled back releasing Methos then quickly backing away, barely managing to parry the sword stroke aimed at his neck. Methos backed up a step arm snaking up to his shoulder to the slim, small dagger sheathed at his back, between his shoulder blades. The knife flashed out in a blur but Jephus swung his sword up catching the knife knocking it away and sending it tumbling end over end where it caught a passing slave in the neck.

Watching the bright gouts of blood pulse out from the stumbling slave Caspian laughed, "What’s the chance of that happening?"

However Jephus’ quick move had left his chest unprotected and Methos jammed the tip of his sword into the soft cleft between the bigger man’s pecs just deep enough to hurt but not deep enough for a killing blow. He glanced over at Kronos who smiled.

"He lasted longer than the last one," the lead Horseman said shrugging, "You had to use all three daggers."

"He crushed my balls. I got distracted." Methos snarled.

"Now, now, dear. No excuses." Kronos said with mock concern. He grinned as Methos glared at him snorting.

"Bastard."

Motioning Jephus forward Kronos clasped his forearm, "Welcome, friend. You’ll do until something better comes along."

Growling angrily, Methos stalked across the camp to his tent disappearing inside. Kronos watched him go then sighed, "Well, there goes my loving for the evening."

Methos flung himself on the pile of furs that served as his bed turning over when he felt something moving behind him. Only it wasn’t Kronos lying beside him, and he wasn’t in a tent, but a large warm bed with an even warmer body curled around his. Wriggling away Methos realized that he was safe in the loft with Duncan MacLeod and Jephus was thousands of miles away. He felt a thin spike of fear jabbing deep in his gut, knowing that come morning Joe was going to be getting a telephone call from the Watchers that their 'retrieval' team was dead and/or joining the hostages.

MacLeod moved, shuffling closer to Methos and he surrendered, letting the Highlander wrap him up again.

**Keshena Airport, Yugoslavia**

The Leer jet rolled to a halt on the runway, just as the Tower clock in the small city was striking noon. The nondescript aircraft settled into its place near the hangers and the side door opened. A ramp folded down as the occupants of the plane moved from their seats and deplaned in a single file. All of the occupants were young in appearance, and could have been mistaken for students were it not for their unusual dress. Each man or woman was dressed in a black jumpsuit and black combat boots. And each carried a long narrow leather case that resembled a gun case. The few airport workers who observed the men and women arriving speculated among themselves that the group was a hunting club, although there was nothing of note to hunt near Keshena.

In fact the only thing near the small airport at all was the University Research Center a few miles away. Perhaps these people were affiliated with the University since they all seem to bear the same tattoo on their wrists.

Andy Petrov had given the Watcher team leader excellent directions to the Research Center and once their gear was loaded into three large SUVs the black clad Watchers pulled away from the airport.

Mike McCall and Sharon Allen were the two Senior Watchers in charge of this retrieval operation. He was driving the lead vehicle and Sharon was driving the last car in their small convoy. It was a short drive to the turn off that lead down to the Research Center. As the three SUVs rounded the bend in the road the buildings came into sight. There were two large brick buildings and several green houses of tinted glass. A tall chain link fence surrounded the property with a single large gate leading into the parking lot. The vehicles halted and the occupants stepped out, milling a round the guardhouse. Anton Petrov moved to greet the new arrivals.

A man and a woman came to stand beside the archeologist. He motioned to the security camera monitors lining one wall of the guardhouse. "I can see everything that they are doing, but there is no sound. I have a call in to Watcher headquarters in the United States to Joe Dawson. He was the one who identified the dagger. So far they seem to have set up a base camp in the largest greenhouse, the most southern one. That means they won’t see you coming through the complex. How you get them out is up to you."

"Don’t worry we have armor piercing rounds in the guns. We’ll put them down then secure them. The Department Heads think we should just kill them all. But I’m not sure what that many Quickenings would do to the building, so we want to get the hostages out first."

Quickly the retrieval team gathered around their leaders. Sharon Allen motioned to her team over to a fire evacuation diagram fastened to the wall of the guardhouse. "My group is going to move in to the greenhouse through the labs, we’ll take this corridor up and fan out at the door. There’s two entrances to the actual greenhouse, "This one," she pointed to the main door, "And this one, a double door for the loading area. If Mike brings his group around the greenhouse by way of the parking lots and the access road they can rush the double door. These guys are old, so they’ve never seen modern weapons that should give us an element of surprise."

The Watchers split into two groups, while Dr. Petrov punched in his access code to open the main gate. Both Watcher teams moved quickly through the gate, and Mike McCall turned back to the guardhouse, "Close the gate behind us Doctor, in case they get out to the parking lot. Keep watch on the monitors, and stay down on the floor so there is less of a chance of you being seen,"

Petrov nodded then scrambled inside the gatehouse, tossing a chair cushion on the floor and pulling the telephone over. He could see the first Watcher team pushing the glass door to the complex open as Mike McCall and his team wound their way around the building toward the access road.

The inside team made it to the door of the greenhouse first, but hung back out of view of the greenhouse itself; so far they had not seen anyone in the building. If the immortals had set watches, and it was almost certain they had, it was within the confines of the greenhouse itself. It made sense that the immortals would keep to the green areas since they most probably resembled the open meadow areas they were familiar with.

Sharon Allen’s cell phone beeped softly and she dug it out of her pocket. Mike McCall’s voice drifted quietly to her, "We’re at the back doors, just outside of their line of sight. The greenhouse walls are frosted but I can make out shadows, Looks like at least two men are seated just inside the door."

Sharon sighed, "There are a lot of fruit trees inside, and some of them almost go to the roof. I remember seeing them once. We probably won’t get a clear line of sight from the back, the best we can try to do is shoot them all, and head shots are probably best. It’ll take them down quicker."

Alright give us fifteen minutes, and then hit the door."

Inside the green house Jephus had his men scattered around the camp area. He had never seen glass before but he was used to defending a small walled compound. The fact that the building had only two doors worked to their advantage. If anyone was going to try to take the camp they would either have to break through the walls, which could slow them down perhaps even injure them or come through the doors. And it was easy to defend the door-one man in plain sight in front of the door and one man to the side out of the line of sight. Even the strange weapon the soldier had wielded was no concern. All his men could throw knives, and they had been sharpening their blades and cleaning their weapons while the slaves prepared food. The fire was banked, the meal having been consumed some time ago. Now the guards at the door were sitting, swords at the side, sharpening the blades on the daggers they carried.

The front door burst open at the same time as the back door rattled, but the rear doors were locked and it had to be kicked in. It gave the men stationed there extra time to position themselves for the attack.

Sharon Allen surged forward through the door, rifle raised, drawing a sight on the man standing just inside the door. As she moved to fire, a sudden hot pain shot through her back and the force of the dagger shattering her left shoulder blade jerked her around. Blood spouted and Sharon staggered dropping the gun as she clawed at her back. The second man in her team surged through the door aiming for the man who had stabbed his team leader and went down with a smaller but no less deadly knife stuck in his neck. His breath bubbled out as he managed to pull the knife free and he sank to his knees, blood pouring from the gaping wound.

With two team members down the three remaining Watchers hesitated, and found themselves falling back into the corridor as the two guards and Jephus plunged out of the greenhouse. The corridor was narrow, almost too confining for swinging a blade yet the three immortals pressed forward. In such close quarters the guns were useless, and unable to aim the Watchers settled for firing randomly. But even though the shots struck home twice on Jephus and on one of the other immortals they were not well-aimed headshots, and the wounded Immortals fought as if the gunshots were insignificant. In the end, the three Watchers at the front door were cut down cleanly, and left dying in the hall.

McCall and his team were faring slightly better, although the two men who had kicked in the door had been killed with knives. The three remaining team members had managed to actually make it into the greenhouse. Selual had been standing in the vegetable patch half way between the two doors and had run to the rear to help the two men there.

He charged forward, screaming an ancient battle cry, sword swinging in a gleaming arch. The Watchers fled, two trying to dodge the Egyptian. The third Watcher took the full force of the blow at his neck, head separating from his body in a tight arc. The severed head was swept upward with the force of the blow thumping to the ground several feet away. The Watcher’s body, apparently not knowing that it was dead, actually stumbled forward before collapsing in the lush greenery. The remaining two Watchers stopped horrified, staggering back as the two guards at the door closed on them swords drawn. One of them men impaled his opponent driving the body down to the ground then raised a booted foot to kick the dead Watcher clear of his blade. The last Watcher, a young woman backed away from the immortal guard facing her. He grinned raising his sword and she dropped her gun. Casually he gripped her arm dragging her toward the front of the room. Jephus touched her cheek, "Have you ever seen so many women with weapons? Do these people believe that women can fight?"

"They would have done well," Selual said, "If they had not had superior opponents." He grinned slapping the younger man on the back. Motioning to Dr, Johnson the Egyptian said, "Come take this one.

Carefully she picked her way through the vegetable rows moving to the young Watcher’s side. "Come on."

 The younger woman nodded, "What do you know about them?"

The doctor sighed, "Cultists or maybe terrorists perhaps?"

"Perhaps," the Watcher nodded blankly. She turned her head to the security camera on the far wall praying that Anton Petrov could reach Watcher Headquarter and tell them about the retrieval team’s failure.

Petrov sat huddled in mute disbelief as the ten Watchers were mowed down by the few Immortals. The Watchers had never stood a chance, even with assault rifles. With a trembling hand he pulled the telephone over, "Yes, operator, I need to be connected to a number in the United States."

**Seacouver Hilton Hotel**

Joe Dawson rolled over in the large soft bed the sound of soft feminine breathing causing him to smile. With a sigh he reached for the wheel chair that the concierge had delivered late last night, or maybe earlier that morning he thought. Abbe was curled on her side facing away from him the soft light playing on her bare shoulders. Stretching Joe slid into the chair as quietly as possible rolling to the bathroom.

When he had finished he started to move back to the bed but his cell phone ringing in his coat pocket caught his attention. Andy Petrov’s troubled voice shook him from the lethargy the late night had caused. "Okay, I’ll call someone who might be able to help. Yeah, he’s a friend. No, not a Watcher, but someone who can help. Maybe you’re better not knowing right now. I’ll call you back as soon as I can."

Abbe was sitting up in the bed, blankets drawn up under her arms yawning. "Was that your people in Yugoslavia?"

"Yeah, it didn’t go down like they thought. Looks like the Old Man was right." He frowned and she rose from the bed coming to stand beside him. He glanced up at her patting her bare arm.

"Let’s get dressed and go to MacLeod’s. Methos and I need to talk."

**Macleod’s Loft**

Methos sat at the dinning table picking at his food. On the opposite side of the table Macleod stared at his reluctant lover. Joe and Abbe had shown up an hour ago, the bearers of bad news. While their conversation had not quite broken down into open warfare, it had been close. Joe had come to ask for MacLeod’s help in dealing with the six Immortals ensconced in the University Research Facility, and hopefully to also free the mortal hostages the men held. Methos had been adamantly opposed to the Highlander going, and the two men had almost come to blows.

Joe sat guiltily eating the delicious food Mac had prepared, not tasting a morsel. Abbe had reluctantly backed Methos, not because she believed that they should not go to assist the Watchers but, Joe felt, because she had backed Methos for so long she was hesitant in refuting him.

Now MacLeod and Methos sat glaring at each other not talking at all, and Joe desperately hoped to swing Abbe over to his side. When Methos rose to go to the bathroom the Watcher seized the opportunity. "Abbe," he started, "I know what Methos is to you..."

"No, you don’t. You can’t know. You never had to live like we did. If you think that you can remotely understand what life was like in the Horsemen’s camp you’re kidding yourself. It was an ugly violent time. There was no such thing as compassion, or human kindness. We lived like animals, law of the jungle, survival of the fittest. And the Horsemen ensured that they were more fit that anyone. I fought in the arena, from the age of twelve. Can you understand what kind of people would put a twelve-year-old girl in the arena with knife and tell her to kill another twelve-year-old child? I grew up thinking that living meant killing someone else before they could kill me. And you don’t even want to know how Thos grew up."

MacLeod leaned over, "He says he doesn’t remember."

"He doesn’t want too," Abbe said quietly as Methos settled into his place at the table.

Abbe leaned over touching his hand. "You know that they’ll never get anybody into that building, not by force. Jephus was as good at defending a walled enclosure as he was attacking one. Short of blowing up the entire building with everyone in it they’ll never get them out."

"I suppose they could starve them out eventually after the food they have runs out, which could take awhile, but they might start killing the hostages. And if they try to use gas of some kind all they have to do is break out some of the glass in the greenhouse. And then they start killing the hostages."

"Well, they’ve already killed nine Watchers, and maybe Jack Carter, too. Nobody knows where he is. We’re pretty much open to suggestions." Joe said quietly.

Abbe sighed, "They were waiting for Methos and me. We’re the only ones who can get in there without a fight."

Methos froze in his seat, "You want me to calmly walk into a room full of Watchers and announce I’m Methos, the Horseman formerly known as Death."

Thos, it doesn’t have to be like that. Joe said the security cameras don’t have sound, and we’ll be speaking Sumerian inside. No one is going to understand us. We’ll get my make-up guy to do some hair extensions on you; with the longer hair you look much younger. I’ll do all the talking; tell them you’re a young Immortal who speaks the lingo because you studied it in school."

"I met Anton Petrov a couple of years ago. He might remember me as an older Adam Pierson and he doesn’t know that I’m Immortal."

Joe spoke up, "That was before Kronos knifed you. Remember Cassandra’s Watcher reported it. That was Adam Pierson’s first death. And as far as you looking younger, nobody ever believed you were thirty anyway. No matter what your driver’s license said."

"Methos, we’re the only ones who remotely stand a chance of getting in there."

Joe glanced at his friend. "Nobody even has to hear the name Methos. As far as the Watcher’s are concerned Abbe is the ancient warrior, and you’re just along for the ride. Once you get inside they’re not gonna be able to follow what’s going on anyway."

MacLeod added, "I’ll be there with you, too."

"No," Methos said, "You’re not going in. I can’t explain you."

"Did you really ever explain yourself to anyone? Come on, Methos I’m not naive. The Horsemen did what they damned well wanted. I’ll just be another shield brother."

"We’ll need proper clothes, armor and weapons. We have to make them believe that the Horsemen still ride."

Abbe nodded, "I’ve got great costumers." Joe turned smiling at her adding, "The Watchers have several warehouses filled with old armor and weapons. Give me a list of what you need and we’ll pull it out and have it waiting at the airport in Yugoslavia."

"All right," Methos said, "When we get there this is what we’ll do."

**University Research Center, Yugoslavia**

Brad Henning was dragging the last body out of the greenhouse. The nine Watcher corpses were stacked in a small grassy area just out side the double doors leading to the loading platform. Two of the strange men dressed in the ancient leather clothes and armor were walking the perimeter of the grassy yard behind the greenhouse. Brad assumed that the others were also checking out the inside of the Research complex. Whoever the black clad people had been, it taken less than half an hour for their captors to wipe them out.

Brad and his brother had been hauling dead bodies out of the greenhouse for the last hour, and he was numb. At first he had been sickened; it was amazing how much blood a human body had in it, and how little time it took for that blood to drain out. Brad's hands were sticky with drying blood, and the smell was overpowering. He flinched as he tugged the last body, a young woman with green eyes and blonde hair out the door and laid her as gently as possible on the mound of human flesh now cluttering the yard.

The two men walking guard watched Brad and his brother, Tom, carefully stacking the bodies. They shrugged at each other; normally bodies were left to rot where they fell, but some tribes spent a lot of time preparing the dead. As long as the boys kept working and didn't disturb them they weren't going to argue. Jephus had said he wanted the bodies removed, but he didn't say quickly.

Inside the greenhouse Dr. Johnson was caring for Amelia Gray. The young woman was rocking back and forth; a vacant expression on her face. She mumbled to herself occasionally, and Dr. Johnson recognized the signs of shock. Cautiously the doctor approached the big man who sat sharpening his blade, talking to the slender dark skinned man. Both men paused in their talking as the woman approached. Slowly, giving them no cause for aggression Dr. Johnson pointed to the brass tea kettle hung over the fire, then to a ceramic mug on the bench. She waited until the big man nodded. Carefully, Johnson poured some of the steaming liquid into the cup, added a heaping spoonful of sugar and scurried back to Amelia. Although a good portion of the tea slipped through the young woman's slack lips some of it went down.

Glancing over her shoulder Dr. Johnson gently shook Amelia's shoulder, "You've got to snap out of it, Amelia. We need to be alert. I have a feeling that you do not want to become a liability. Come on." She rubbed the girl's arms trying to heat the cool, clammy flesh. "I'm sure that someone else will come. Those people made it."

Amelia glanced up, the first movement she had made in sometime, "No, they didn't."

"What?" Dr. Johnson said, but the young woman shook her head sighing,

"They didn't make it. They're all dead."

"Well, they knew we were here. Dr. Petrov must have gotten them here. He's still outside. He won't forget about us."

**Seacouver Civic Center Auditorium**

MacLeod paced around the room, while Joe sat in a chair staring vacantly out the window. Abbe had brought them to the dressing rooms earlier that morning because she had told them the make-up people were willing to come in and "do Methos' hair."

The Highlander wasn't sure what that meant. But he was waiting more or less patiently for his lover to reappear, having been banned from the actual work area by a really strange little woman in orange spandex pants. Methos had disappeared into the make-up room three hours ago, and MacLeod was wonder just what the hell they could be doing to his hair that would take that long.

It wasn't like Methos had all that much hair to begin with.

Finally, Abbe appeared at the door smiling, "Sorry it took so long, but hair extensions have to be glued in one section at a time to make them look natural. And it took a long time to mix the hair strands to look more natural as well."

"He's not trying to win an Academy Award."

Smiling Abbe pushed open the door, "If we pull this off he's going to have to act well enough to win one."

Methos appeared in the doorway, slouching against the frame. MacLeod titled his head to the side. Long soft brown hair spilled over the older Immortals' shoulders, framing his face making his skin seem all the more pale.

Eyes wide, Methos offered his lover a shy Adam-like smile, and the Highlander gasped. When MacLeod had first met Methos ten years ago his hair hadn't been nearly so long, simply curling around his face in boyish waves. Even then he had looked like a British school boy. With long hair, Methos barely looked sixteen. The other man stepped

“Mac," Methos said hesitantly, "What's wrong?"

"Suddenly I feel like a dirty old man."

Sighing the other Immortal said softly, "I'm ten times older than you, shouldn't that be my line?"

Joe rose to his feet, pulling his cane from the corner. "I called Watcher headquarters in Vienna this morning. They have all the clothing, weapons and armor you asked for waiting at the airport, and the jet has been sent from Yugoslavia to Seacouver. It'll be here in about ten hours."

Abbe nodded, "The sound system has to be revamped for the concert. We won't even start rehearsals until next week. Its dinner time and we really need to eat something. Let's go back to the hotel." She glanced at MacLeod out of the corner of her eye drawing his attention. As Joe and Methos walked out of the room the Highlander dropped back, ostensibly waiting for Abbe. She waited until Methos and Joe were far enough away. "Do you really understand what you're getting into? I know you'll follow Methos into battle, but will you really follow him?"

"Of course, I trust him."

"Look Mac, don't misunderstand, but you cannot interfere with Methos running the show. Jephus and Selual are not fools they'll pick up on any resistance. Believe me if they even get a sense that Methos is not "Death" they'll go wild. His strength, the force of his personality alone kept them line. No one crossed us because he would not hesitate to wipe them out, no remorse nor mercy. If you can't stick with the program this thing won't work."

"I can follow along. I was a warrior in my clan; I understand a chain of command."

"By all the gods, there is no chain of command. Methos was out Lord and Master without question, even I would never have dared cross him, and he loved me as much as he could love anything or anyone."

"I'll do what I'm told."

"Good because if you don't you will kill us all."

"These guys can't be that good. Everyone has flaws, in their technique. No one lasts forever."

"Methos has. Do you really believe that a laid back bookworm could last 5000 years in the game?"

"He says he runs and hides. He doesn't like to fight."

"Yes, sometimes he runs but sometimes he doesn't, and do you know why he doesn't fight, not because he doesn't like it; because he likes it too much."

"I've sparred with him, and I hate to tell you this but I've beaten him."

With a quick grin Abbe motioned MacLeod to lean down. "He let you."

Turning on her heel the woman took the stairs two at a time and joined Joe and Methos. "Draw your sword, Horseman!" she hissed, tugging a piece of nylon rope off a packing crate. Quickly she tied two slip knots, one on each end of the rope. Tossing one end of the rope to Methos she tugged the loop over her left arm tightening it. Methos also fastened the loop on his end of the rope around his left wrist, pulling the Ivanhoe from its sheath in his long coat. Abbe backed away, tugging a long sword from under her jacket. She motioned Joe and MacLeod back away so that the two combatants had room.

Methos struck immediately, no challenge, no warning. He jerked the rope taut pulling his smaller opponent forward swinging the Ivanhoe in a tight arc going for a killing blow to the chest. Abbe twisted forward and under sliding her legs almost flat to the floor, letting Methos step over her body, then rolled gracefully, like a yo-yo up and to her feet pulling the rope between Methos' legs. He jumped cleanly, quickly whirling in mid air, stepping over the rope and dropping a solid kick into her side. The sound of his booted foot striking Abbe's ribs caused both Macleod and Joe to cringe. But Abbe rolled with the kick swinging her sword up cutting along Methos' leg slicing through his jeans; still she wasn't quick enough to cut him. He flipped backwards like a gymnast tugging the rope pulling Abbe forward. She surged forward, following him effortlessly swinging her sword cutting toward his neck. He twisted stepping forward parrying the sword stroke and cutting down towards her on the back swing. With his sword engaged Abbe maneuvered herself into position to kick out, catching him in the back of the knee, the bone cracked loudly, and Methos stumbled.

With a quick underhand slash he tugged both blades upward, using his left hand to hit Abbe squarely in the chest. She went down but Methos backed up pulling the rope taut between them keeping Abbe suspended mid-air. She lay horizontal to the floor and Methos drew his blade down and across striking at her prone body, but Abbe kicked up on one leg flipping herself over the rope, and sliding one leg parallel to Methos' body.

His sword blow missed her body ruffling her hair and sending a few stands flying. But she was to his rear slightly and dragging her left arm up swung him around until she was behind him. Methos jerked the rope stepping to the side and Abbe slid down actually sliding between his legs. She slammed the hilt of the sword up, trying for his groin, but he flinched back and she hit his thigh, laughing.

Gasping Methos used one leg to propel Abbe off the floor, and she bounced off his chest stumbling back. They stared at each other then sheathed their swords. Joe knew his mouth was hanging open, but he was hard pressed to close it. He had seen Macleod and Methos spar, but it was no where as intense or as athletic as the show the two ancient Immortals had just put on.

Even the Highlander seemed stunned. Suddenly, it seemed to the Watcher that MacLeod was beginning to understand that he didn't understand his friend at all.

**Seacouver International Airport**

The Leer jet rolled smoothly to a stop on the runway. Four figures stood at the door of the hanger waiting for the pilot to tell them they were ready to board. Joe and MacLeod stood waiting as Methos and Abbe walked slowly up to them carrying coffee cups from the overpriced trendy coffee shop in the terminal. MacLeod accepted the cup, and they stood silently.

Methos was slowly withdrawing, and the Highlander was worried about his lover, knowing that the elder Immortal was being forced to resurrect this demon from his past. "Whatever happens Methos," MacLeod said, "I will stand beside you. Whatever we have do to save those hostages, I understand that you're doing this to right some wrong you believe that you're accountable for."

"I am more than accountable, Mac. I made these men what they are. I will rectify that mistake."

The two men broke off their conversation when the pilot stepped into the terminal motioning to Joe, and he turned to the three Immortals, "Let's saddle up. Uh, gees, I didn't mean that you know like it sounded." The Watcher stuttered blushing crimson.

Methos gently touched his friend's shoulder, "Don't worry about it."

When they had settled into the seats Methos pushed his seat back, closing his eyes. The Highlander tugged Methos' hand across their legs, kissing the palm. Leaning over, Methos resting his head on MacLeod's broad shoulder. "This won't be the only time that I look to you for support. I'm not kidding you, Mac. This is going to be rough."

"I won't fail you, Methos." The Highlander said, "My oath on it."

With a sigh Methos closed his eyes. But MacLeod could feel the tension in the long, slender body half laying on him, and he knew that Methos would not sleep. He knew that he wouldn't either and had little hope that Joe or Abbe would fare any better.

**Keshena Airport, Yugoslavia**

Anton Petrov was waiting at the airport when the jet touched down. Joe leaned forward stretching his arms over his head. "God, I don't think that my ass will ever be the same." Raising slowly the Watcher leaned over to look out the window. "They're waiting for us."

MacLeod gently shook Methos awake. Surprisingly the other Immortal had drifted to sleep a few hours ago. He rose rubbing his eyes, brushing the long hair out of his face, and MacLeod felt his hear freeze. “ _Oh God_ ,” he thought, “ _I can't lose him, now. No matter what I have to do he will survive”._

Petrov moved them quickly into the terminal. "We have everything set up in a closed conference area. The clothes exactly meet the requirements you specified, and the armor is a dead perfect match for the drawings you sent. The only problems we had were the swords, the ones I selected are as old as we could find, Roman era."

Methos nodded, "They'll have to do."

A short time later Methos and Abbe appeared from the dressing rooms clad in identical white woolen garments and nearly identical soft-soled leather boots. Methos had a wide leather belt fastened around his waist and was pulling on a leather cuirass decorated with large bronze discs. He turned his back to Joe, "Lace me."

"What?" the Watcher asked raising an eyebrow, "That's not something I ever thought I'd hear you say." He grinned.

Methos snorted at him then grabbed Abbe, "The laces."

She moved quickly behind him tugging at the breastplate's leather laces securing them in knots and tucking the knots under the leather placket. She turned motioning for him to perform the same service for her, but he tugged the laces free, "Who laced this? They didn't know shit about armor."

With a grimace he carefully pulled the leather laces through the placket then knotted them. Abbe tugged the cuirass along her shoulders smoothing the leather into place, and she settled into a chair beside Methos lacing her wrist guard, tugging the laces tight with her teeth and knotting each one tightly. "One more thing, "she whispered and he nodded.

As Methos laced and tied his wrist guards Abbe scooped a handful of blue tinted clay make-up and carefully colored one half of Methos' face.

While she waited for his war paint to dry she used the window to paint her own face. By this time MacLeod had appeared behind her and Abbe motioned him over.

"Here you need some of this," he turned the right side of his face to her, but she shook her head, "No, the left side, we must be a reflection of him."

MacLeod nodded then whispered, "Him?"

"Yes, our Lord Death."

 

**University Research Center, 12:00 a.m.**

The small side road leading to the University Research Center had been barricaded by the Watchers; a truck with two men was stationed at the barricade. They were alerted by a cell phone call that the three Immortals they were waiting for had arrived at the airport.

The two men sat on the hood of the truck watching the empty road for the vehicle bearing the new arrivals. Anton Petrov had told them that Joe Dawson would be accompanying the group, and that two trucks pulling horse trailers would also be arriving shortly.

Finally, the first faint traces of headlights warned the men of the approaching vehicles. The horse trailers arrived, and the animal trainers began unloading the three horses. The first mount was a large, white stallion with a gray muzzle. The other horses were geldings, both a soft, light gray in color only slightly darker than the stallion.

Farther up the road, a dark colored nondescript van appeared rolling to a halt just behind the horse trailers. Two men in plain clothes exited the van followed by three figures dressed in white clothes and leather armor. The men guarding the road glanced nervously at each other as the costumed figures drew to a halt. They were two men and one woman, but she looked every bit as deadly as the men.

The taller and apparently older man approached the taller of the two gray geldings and patted its nose. He was a truly impressive figure, barbaric with his broad leather clad shoulders and wild dark colored hair flowing freely about his face. The woman also took the reins on one of the gray horses. She whispered softly to it, gently flicking its ears as they swiveled to listen to the foreign sounding words she uttered. But it was the other man that gave them both pause. He was smaller than the first, and yet seemed infinitely more dangerous. His cold green-gold eyes passed over them as if they were beneath contempt. He tugged the reins of the white stallion out of the trainer’s hand, dropping them to the ground as if waiting to see if the horse moved. When the big animal stood still, trembling slightly, the slender figure ran a hand along the stallion’s neck. He muttered something gentle in the same foreign sounding tongue as the woman. Finally, Methos turned to Abbe, "He looks enough like Azreal."

She smiled nodding, "Yes, he does. Are you ready?"

Methos nodded glancing at the Highlander. MacLeod smiled, "I’m ready." He said as the ancient Immortal swung up into the saddle. Abbe mounted quickly and efficiently, as did the Highlander.

Joe approached MacLeod’s horse holding up a hand. "Andy and I will keep watch in the guard house. The security cameras are still working, but we can’t hear anything. You’ll pretty much be on your own."

MacLeod nodded and said, "We’ll try to get the hostages out as soon as possible."

"No, we won’t, "Methos interrupted, "we will get them out as soon as we can, still alive. I can’t promise undamaged." He glared at the Highlander urging his mount over, "Look Mac, this is my show. You will do as you are told, or you will not go in with us. Do you understand?" he asked coldly.

The Highlander bristled, "I‘ll do my part, Methos. I don’t have to be told what that is."

Abbe nudged her horse over, "Remember, Highlander we serve him. He is our Master, and it had better look that way to Jephus and Selual. They are not fools, and they won’t suffer fools to live around them."

**Greenhouse # 1. 1:00 a.m.**

Dr. Johnson had been caring for Amelia Gray again, and she was rapidly becoming concerned as the girl seemed to slip into a semi-comatose state. The doctor was settled on the ground beside the fire with Amelia’s head in her lap.

All over the greenhouse the student’s were settled down, trying to sleep as much as possible. In the four days that the strange men had kept them prisoner none of them had gotten much sleep. The men were restless as if they were waiting for someone. Dr. Johnson had no idea who it might be, and what Anton Petrov, if he was still out there, might be doing to rescue them. Their days were filled with all the activities that she had once studied as part of Bronze Age camp life. Somehow, first hand knowledge had proven to be far less satisfying than the images she had dreamt of in her student days.

Finally, Amelia seemed to be dropping off to sleep. Dr. Johnson sighed and eased her burden down onto the ground. From across the vegetable rows, a suddenly sharp cry issued from one of the other girls. In the darkness it was impossible to see what was happening that far way, but since one of the men had taken the girl away from the fire side earlier, Dr, Johnson could guess what was happening, she shuddered.

A tall shadow fell across her and the doctor looked up. Jephus was standing beside her staring down at the silent form of Amelia Gray. Dr. Johnson shook her head, "Please," she whispered, "She’s just a girl. She can’t take it. Please."

The big man cocked his head staring at her, and although she knew he couldn’t understand her words; Dr. Johnson was sure that he understood her pleading gestures. Through narrowed eyes he lowered a hand, motioned for Dr. Johnson to grasp his arm. She reached up and he pulled her to his feet hurrying her across the clearing to a secluded spot not far from the fire.

Just a few hundred feet beyond the flickering embers Dr. Johnson could see the two men settled beside the door. They glanced at the big man once then turned away. Quickly he pulled her forward letting his lips trail over her neck, and she shuddered again. Slowly he tugged her blouse free from her trousers, motioning for her to unfasten the buttons. <P>With trembling fingers she complied. When at last she stood naked Jephus motioned Dr. Johnson to turn around. She moved in a slow circle, and he smiled. Moving forward he began pulling the laces free on the well broken-in leather trousers he wore, motioning for her to assist. She reached out with trembling fingers working the laces with grim efficiency. When he, at last, pushed her down on the ground Dr. Johnson turned her head toward the fire, watching the flickering light grow slightly dimmer.

Jephus slept lightly beside the woman he had claimed. His turn at watch had gone well, and his recreation for the evening had left him feeling well used, and peaceful. The woman was reasonably cooperative and fairly quiet; at least she wasn’t a screamer like the one Mathias had chosen. Selual had also shown an interest in the red haired girl, but out of deference to his chosen woman, Jephus had sent the Egyptian along to find another bed mate for the night. He had chosen one of the boys, but the young man had fought and the Egyptian was using the boy mercilessly. The faint shuddering grunts of pain the young man uttered stilled to quiet sobbing, and Selual stretched out on the ground beside the boy murmuring angrily for him to shut up.

Suddenly the men standing guard at the door, jumped up excitedly calling out for Jephus and Selual to come to the door. Both men jumped to their feet adjusting their clothes. They raced to the door, "What is it?" Jephus asked, "More of those strangely dressed raiders?"

"No," one of the men hissed drawing away from the door.

Jephus stepped back quickly as the white clad figure walked into the door. Quickly he moved forward offering his hand in a warriors clasp. Methos smiled taking the bigger man’s arm and Jephus nodded, "My Lord Methos."

Methos nodded turning as Abbe entered the room, and Jephus turned to her. She quickly accepted his hand clasp, "Jephus." She said.

He bowed slightly, "Lady Abtimvia."

Finally, the big man turned his attention to the third figure standing at the door. Although the man was not quite as tall as Jephus he was almost as heavily built, and he moved with the easy grace of a well trained warrior. Jephus cocked his head, and Methos turned motioning MacLeod forward, "This is Duncan MacLeod, a Caledonian clansman. He doesn’t speak Sumerian, but I know his people’s tongue, and he will learn."

Macleod wasn’t sure what Methos had said to the two men standing beside the door. But he was sure that the bigger of the two men didn’t like it. Casually, he watched the big man follow the ancient Immortal’s every movement, and he was certain that the big Sumerian warrior was interested in more than just a working relationship with Methos.

However, he offered the Highlander a sneer that might has roughly been described as a smile, and reached out. MacLeod clasped the bigger man’s forearm, and nodded coldly.

Methos was not unaware of the byplay between the two men and said, "My companions and I have ridden far, we will rest tonight. Tomorrow I want to move the camp father down toward the village."

Jephus nodded, "Yes, my Lord Methos. Rest well. The guards are just changing watch." From across the small clearing MacLeod could make out a woman lying huddled beside the fire. The big man made his way to her, and lay down beside the still form. She wasn’t asleep, and shuddered as he folded his body around her.

A white hot bolt of fury swept over the Highlander and he hissed at Methos, "These men have raped some of the women."

"Probably, I’d be very surprised if they hadn’t." Methos said and MacLeod tugged his arm. "How can you say that so causally?"

The other Immortal jerked his arm away, "MacLeod, get your hands the hell off me." He turned away from Jephus knowing that the big man could see them, but the Highlander persisted, "Well, aren’t you going to do anything about it?"

"No," Methos said stiffly, and he could see the heat rising in the Highlander’s dusky face. "And to tell you the truth, Mac, three thousand years ago I would have been right out there with them."

Glancing over at the ancient warrior lying beside the fire Abbe touched MacLeod’s arm, "You have got to get a hold of yourself…Jephus is watching. The plan was to move the hostages out of close quarters and give us some room to maneuver. God knows what six Quickenings would do to this place. You have got to let Methos work on this the way we said."

"I will not stand by and watch innocent woman or boys be abused," the Highlander snorted.

Methos jerked around, "Damn it, Mac! Would you rather see them all dead?"

"What are you afraid of Methos? This big bastard? I killed Kronos and I can kill him too!"

Unnoticed Jephus had risen from his place by the fire and walked back to where Methos and the others stood, "Is there a problem, my Lord Methos?"

Hissing Methos jerked around, "No, Jephus nothing you need be concerned about."

The big warrior nodded politely then withdrew casting a calculating glance behind him. Instead of returning to his bed Jephus sought out Selual, finding the Egyptian settled comfortably near the fire. The slender dark skinned man nodded casually at his friend, "Is something wrong?"

He asked quietly. Jephus settled down, "Yes, this Duncan MacLeod; this Caledonian barbarian. He defies Methos, and he said something about Kronos as well."

"Do you think that we will be meeting up with the main raiding party tomorrow?" the Egyptian asked quietly.

Jephus shrugged, "I don’t know. But I do not think so, and I do not think that I want to follow some Caledonian barbarian. I also think that we were left in that ice for a considerable time, and that if these strangers had not found us the Horsemen surely would not have come for us. And if the Horsemen no longer ride, I will not serve a weak master."

Selual leaned forward, "Do you believe that Methos is no longer our Lord Death?"

"I truly do not know."

"Shall I gather the men?" the Egyptian asked grinning slyly.

Jephus returned his grin, "If he has lost his nerve then I will be happy to take his place. Even if Kronos and the others are waiting they would respect the fact I took Methos’ head. After all Methos was good enough until something better came along."

"And you think that you’re better?" Selual asked.

Jephus nodded, "I think that I am willing to find out. Gather the men, Selual, and bring them here to me."

Methos had moved to the fireside, gently he touched the huddled woman’s arm. She jumped, biting her lip to keep from crying out. He glanced around, but Jephus and Selual were seating half way down the vegetable rows talking. Softly he whispered, "Dr. Johnson?"

Eyes wide she glanced up, "You speak English. Did Andy Petrov send you?"

"Yes, my friends and I are going to try to get you out of here. But you must do exactly as I say. These men are extremely dangerous."

"Who are they? They were dead, and now they aren’t. How can that be?"

"I can’t really explain that now. We came here with some people who can explain all of that to you, but you must do as I say. I’ll try to keep them from hurting any of you further, but I can’t promise that."

Suddenly Methos rose to his feet, Jephus, Selual and the other four men in the scouting party has congregated together in the center of the greenhouse. Methos watched as the men fanned out moving quickly along the center rows. He backed to Macleod and the Highlander glanced up from the still form of a young woman lying near the fire. He rose up catching his lover by the arm, "Look Methos, I’m sorry about losing it earlier. You said it would be bad, I guess I just didn’t get it. I’ll do better."

"I wouldn’t worry about it, Mac," Methos said sighing, "They’re attacking."

Abbe moved forward, "Boys we’ve got trouble."

Methos turned to the woman lying on the ground, "Dr. Johnson, get your students together, and as soon as the men are otherwise engaged get them out of here."

She nodded, rousing the young red haired woman, "Amelia wake up, please."

The young man sitting close by watched quietly, and then rose to his feet slipping across the clearing to gather up the rest of his colleagues. As the six Immortals gathered slowly together in the center row of the vegetable plot, the ten hostages came together in a small group; sitting huddled beside the white clad figure.

Dr. Johnson carefully supported Amelia as the young woman seemed to rouse herself enough to watch the strange scene unfolding in the greenhouse. The tall slender man with his face painted half blue seemed to be directing them to prepare to flee the greenhouse.

Abbe watched Jephus motioning his men forward, and suddenly the battled was joined. The six Immortals surged forward spreading out, circling Methos, Abbe and the Highlander like lions on the hunt. As Selual moved to engage Abbe she turned her head slightly, bringing her long sword up and around in a tight arc. Shouting at the scientist she jerked her head toward the door, "Move them now!"

The hostages didn’t have to be told twice. They fled; adding to the confusion as the Immortals clashed. Methos’ hand crept up to the dagger sheathed at his back. Quickly he tugged the slim blade free, throwing it underhand as he pulled the ancient Roman long sword from its scabbard. The dagger sailed unerringly at the Jephus but the big man smiled stroking across his body with his heavy bronze sword, knocking the dagger aside.

"Still the same old tricks, my Lord Methos?"

But Methos smiled broadly pulling a 45 magnum out of the leather belt at his waist. The shot rang out thundering through the greenhouse. Jephus jerked at the shell hit his neck, blood spraying out of his body in bright, red gouts. "Yeah," the oldest Immortal said, "And a few new ones, too."

The big man staggered back, eyes wide. The wound on his neck was partially healed, but blood still flowed sluggishly. With a feral grin Jephus swept his sword across his body in a tight arc. Methos parried thrusting up, knocking the blade aside. From behind and to his left the ancient Immortal saw one of the younger men stalking him sword arcing out glittering under pale sodium lights that suddenly flashed on.

MacLeod smiled at the signal from Joe that the hostages had made it out of the complex. Turning quickly he parried a thrust by one of the six Immortals almost backing into his second opponent.

Ducking and whirling at the same time the Highlander slammed an elbow into the second man’s arm, feeling the jarring blow in his own shoulder. His arm was partially numb but his opponent fared much worse as his sword was sent spiraling up and away from his body. The first man’s sword raked down, catching the cloth on MacLeod’s arm slicing it cleanly.

Straightening his arm the Highlander used the ripped cloth to tug at the weapon, and his opponent had to back away or risk losing his own sword. Kicking out, MacLeod sent the man tumbling, whirling around as his second opponent jerked forward, the Roman long sword the Highlander carried sliced upward cleaning cutting across the man’s abdomen. Blood, dark and lethal, flowed over the man’s leather trousers, and he stumbled. The sword arced up and then slashed down. The suddenness of the beheading sent the Immortal’s body thumping to the ground as his head flew a few feet away, falling into the thick greenery.

MacLeod’s body arched upward as white mist of the Immortal’s Quickening gathered. His second opponent smiled recovering his feet, swinging his long sword toward the fallen Highlander. With his last controlled movement before the blue lightening arced over his body MacLeod flung himself side.

Abbe whirled dragging her sword away from her opponents’ as Methos second dagger caught MacLeod’s attacker in the neck. The Immortal staggered back, almost into Abbe’s sword and the blade hit the dagger driving it through the Immortal’s neck showering her in fresh hot blood. Without pulling back Abbe jerked the blade back through the man's neck, and parried a thrust by the Egyptian as Selual moved forward to engage her. Twisting Abbe caught the dying Immortals body with her foot in a standing kick aimed at his mid section. The Immortals lacerated neck separated as his body stuck the Egyptian.

The initial bolt of the Quickening jarred Selual spreading over and through him and hitting Abbe. Body jerking involuntarily she managed to sweep her sword up, catching the Egyptian’s unprotected neck from behind. His eyes widened even as his head was separated from his neck, and Abbe’s backed arched a blood chilling moan escaping her bloody lips as the blue white lightening of both Quickenings struck her at once.

MacLeod staggered to his feet as the second man on Abbe swept forward. The Highlander’s sword rang against the man’s blade and he jerked back moving away to engage MacLeod.

Methos watched the Highlander engage Abbe’s second opponent as Jephus advanced on him. Methos still had the third dagger he always carried in the sheath in his boot. He swept under the bigger man’s blow, twisting to the side as the second man on him moved in the strike at his stomach. Jephus tried to call out to his companion as the last Horseman aimed a kick at the man’s leg. His boot connected and Methos drove forward stepping into the kick driving his second opponent against the man engaging the Highlander.

Jephus’ sword raked down and across his body slicing through the thick wool cloth and biting into Methos’ arm. Blood welled staining the garment crimson. And the ancient Immortal hissed in pain.

Jerking back he stepped over the prone body of the man he had kicked. The man rolled over grabbing at Methos’ leg. With a muttered curse Methos kicked out viciously feeling his booted foot connect solidly with the prone Immortal’s back. Jephus jumped forward glancing down at his fallen companion. In that instant Methos pulled the dagger free of the boot sheath thrusting upwards, catching the bigger man squarely in the gut. Hot blood gushed from the wound, and Jephus staggered back from the force of the blow.

As the prone man rose quickly coming up behind Methos, Jephus backed away smiling, but Macleod sprang forward catching the Immortal following Methos from behind, "Hey," he hissed drawing the man’s attention, "I don’t think so."

The Highlander’s sword flashed and the Immortals head and body became separate objects. As his companion fell, Jephus whirled weakly blocking Methos’ thrust. Parrying the upper cut of the bigger man’s sword, Methos pushed forward cutting up firmly, and as the first white hot bolts of lightening hit MacLeod, Methos’ sword hit home, slicing a clean deep arc through Jephus’ neck.

He stood silently, glaring at his former master for a few seconds until his head tilted back, slipping off his shoulders and dropping to the ground. The fallen Immortal rolled to his feet watching the Horseman strike Jephus’ head from his body. He backed away as the twinned bolts of lightening from MacLeod’s and Methos’ kills roiled and snapped across the greenery, setting the glass walls of the greenhouse vibrating.

Abbe staggered forward just as the last of the six Immortals tugged his sword upward aiming a killing blow as Methos’ neck. Abbe’s sword caught him from behind cleanly severing his head, and the white hot flash of his old Quickening rolled out twining around and through the combined bolts of lightening dancing over Methos and the Highlander. The full force of the three Quickenings hit the glass walls arching and sizzling. A teeth rattling hum rattled the walls as suddenly the glass shattered sending a showering of twinkling shards spiraling around the three remaining Immortals. The lightening rolled over the ground striking the work shed and the generator exploded, sending a red wall of fire along the ground, catching the vegetable plots in expanding waves of flame.

The blue van that has brought them from the airport squealed to a halt outside the double doors of the greenhouse. Joe Dawson and Andy Petrov hurried across the loading platform in time to see the three Immortals stumbling out of the burning chaos. Methos and Macleod supported Abbe between them as they staggered forward. Quickly, Joe tugged Abbe’s limp form from under Methos' arm, and Macleod surrendered her to Petrov.

Slowly, the Highlander moved closer to Methos tugging his arm, taking in the older man’s pinched white features. Quickly MacLeod moved to Methos’ side, wrapping an arm around his lover’s waist. Methos pushed away, and then noticed the Highlander’s pained expression. "We’ve got to get out of here, Mac. The fire wardens are coming. I can hear the sirens."

Glancing behind them at the now engulfed greenhouse both Immortals followed Abbe and the two Watchers to the waiting vehicles. Somehow all of the ten hostages had been crammed in the van and three trucks. Slowly the four vehicles turned out of the parking lot, and onto the road heading toward the airport, and away from the approaching fire trucks.

On the way to the airport Abbe revived enough to sit up. She still leaned heavily on Joe’s shoulder and the elder Watcher quietly slipped his arm around her shoulder. They all sat in stunned silence as the miles between the University Research Center and the small airport slipped away.

The hostages stood mutely barely holding themselves upright as the cars pulled away leaving them in the small brightly lit conference room. Joe Dawson and Andy Petrov looked at the dirty, ragged pale faced men and woman standing mutely around the room. Finally, Joe moved to the three Immortals leaning against the wall beside the door to the room.

"The Watchers picked up the tab on a floor of suites in the hotel across the street, and I hate to tell you this but these people are in for a change in careers."

MacLeod cringed, "Is that necessary? After their initial exposure to Immortals they aren’t going to be really happy about spending a lot of time around them."

Shrugging Joe sighed, "It can’t be helped. We’re going to get them settled in tonight, and then debrief them in the morning. What about you guys?"

Methos and MacLeod glanced at each other, "We’re pretty whipped," the Highlander said. "And you know what a Quickening does to an Immortal?"

Joe blushed, "I’ve heard."

Methos offered him a half hearted grin, "Well, two really does it. So I guess you’ll be hearing a lot more from Mac tonight."

Abbe struggled upright against the wall, then slumped against Joe, "Oh yeah. Well, Joe do you know what happens when an Immortal takes three Quickenings?"

He shook his head and she smiled making him gulp, "You’re about to find out," she said dragging her arm down his chest. She staggered towards the door turning to see if he followed. With a soft grunt Joe glanced at MacLeod and Methos, "Oh, Lord! I think I’m a dead man."

"Yeah," MacLeod hissed, "But it’ll take them a week to wipe the smile off your face."

Patting his friend’s back the Highlander said, "Good night, Joe." He gently took Methos’ arm even though the other man stiffened noticeably. "Please, Methos don’t be angry with me. I know I screwed up."

Following his lover through the door, Methos sighed, "Oh Duncan, is that what you think? I’m not mad at you. Jephus and that bunch should have died thousands of years ago.”

"But you did what you had to do. I know how hard it was for you to go through that. I know you didn’t want to, that you never wanted to be Death again. You faced your worse fear, became what you hated to save innocent lives. And I respect you for that."

"My God! You _were_ telling the truth."

"What?" MacLeod asked as he pushed the door to the hotel lobby open. Both men were conscious of the stares of the other patrons as they went to collect a room key using the name Joe had given them.

MacLeod smiled at the young woman behind the desk as she giggled handing over the key, "Eh, costume party," he mumbled. She handed the key to him, directing him to the elevator. They were silent as the elevator deposited them on the correct floor, and MacLeod lead the other man to the door.

As they walked into the small immaculate room the Highlander turned to his lover, "You said I was telling the truth what did you mean?"

"Oh, at the airport I think it was when you picked me up. You said you didn’t do judgments anymore."

"It is true that I cannot know who you were, but I know who you are, my friend and," MacLeod paused, "My love." Methos’ gaped at him.

Silently he turned to the Highlander leaning in until their lips met. The slow burn in his gut spread seeping across his body and into his groin. MacLeod slid his hand over Methos’ back, slipping his hand through the long dark hair, twining it around his fingers. Methos’ tongue dipped into MacLeod’s mouth stroking the warm, wet flesh. Gently he pushed the other man back, "Let’s get out of these clothes, and into a hot shower."

Quickly they took turns stripping each other’s stained armor away. Then discarded their blood and sweat drenched clothes. MacLeod tugged his slender lover toward the bathroom, and Methos settled against the lavatory while the Highlander adjusted the water temperature. The unsettled jarring of Jephus’ Quickening roiled inside the ancient Immortal leaving him nervous and shaking. It was then he realized that MacLeod had taken two Quickenings, so close together, that he must be doubly strung out.

Stepping into the shower stall, Duncan stood back to make room for the other man.

Gently Macleod pulled one of the small bottles of shampoo off the tile shelf in the wall, pouring the contents onto Methos’ hair he worked the lather into foamy mass then pushed the other man under the water washing away the soap. When he had scrubbed every inch of the slender body, MacLeod moved to clean himself. Methos tugged the sponge out of his lover’s grip and gently but efficiently washed him down.

MacLeod leaned forward nuzzling the side of Methos’ neck and the other man titled his head sideways to give MacLeod better access. As MacLeod’s lips trailed over the creamy pale skin he gently ran his hands down Methos’ side grasping his slim waist. Turning his slightly smaller lover the Highlander gripped Methos’ narrow hips, pressing his against the wall of the shower stall.

Pressing his palms against the cool tiles, Methos let his cheek rest on the back of his hand as Mac picked up the small bottle of bath oil, pouring some of it over his fingers. Carefully he lowered his hands slipping the first digit between the firm round buttocks. His questing finger slipped inward seeking the tight, hot entrance to his lover’s body, and Methos groaned. "Oh, yes, Duncan…"

The Highlander gently twisted a second finger inside curling them upwards, and over the smooth hard gland inside. Methos jerked, groaning again and MacLeod thought he might come just from the sound the other man was making. Methos’ body parted easily and it pleased MacLeod that the other man always seemed ready for him.

Quickly Duncan pulled his fingers free ignoring the muffled whimper of protest, and slid his throbbing member inside the warm thigh channel. Methos groaned again clenching his muscles, pulling the hot, hard flesh deeper within himself. And MacLeod grunted thrusting upward hard enough to lift Methos off one foot. He clutched at the wall, but the Highlander gripped his waist, "Easy now. I’ve got you."

"Oh yes," the ancient Immortal replied, "You most certainly have."

Thrusting harder Macleod poured his seed into the hot body before him. Feeling the warm hard spurts of his lover’s climax sent Methos over the edge and his seed spurted out against the tile. Dropping his head he watched the water carry it away as MacLeod kissed Methos’ neck.

Turning off the water, Macleod wrapped a thick white towel around his slender lover and pushed him towards the bed. Quickly he toweled himself off, and they crawled under the warm blankets drifting to sleep.

**MacLeod’s Loft, Seacouver**

The Watcher jet had deposited them at the Seacouver International Airport three days later, and life had gone on. Macleod was grateful for the reprieve he had been given by Methos for not following orders. Truthfully they had fallen into bed that night, and had continued to fall into bed together every night for the past month.

The Highlander counted himself lucky each evening with the ancient Immortal curled up around him after they made love, but deep inside he could feel a small seed of fear unfurling. Until one day he had come home to a pile of packing crates and boxes in the dojo office, and Methos' bags and suitcases emptied into the drawers he had offered the other man. He didn’t say anything, knowing that Methos wouldn’t either. But inside MacLeod could feel the tightness easing.

The concert came and went and MacLeod was sitting on the sofa, his ears till ringing from the music. Richie hadn’t stopped blathering on about the show, and even though he thought he would never understand the attraction his young friend felt for the music, it please MacLeod that he could share the younger man’s enjoyment of it.

In fact, Abbe and Joe should be arriving in a few minutes, and MacLeod wondered about two of them spending so much time together. He still teased Joe about that night, but the Watcher was being tight-lipped about what happened.

The first buzzing of the newly installed intercom on the elevator in the dojo turned out to be the young Immortal returning from the beer run Methos had dispatched him on earlier.

Richie hauled the last sack of groceries into the kitchen as the intercom on the elevator buzzed again. Methos looked up, "MacLeod, Domino vobiscum."

Richie cocked his head, "What’s that mean?" he asked the ancient Immortal. Methos sneered, "Its Latin."

"Yeah, I thought it kinda sounded like Latin, as much as I can remember from going to Mass with Conner and his wife. But what’s it mean?"

"It means the Pizza guy is here."

"Really? They had pizza in ancient Rome? Wow, cool." Richie grinned at the Highlander as MacLeod pressed some money into his hand.

"Don’t listen to him, just go down and bring up the pizza, please."

Methos sniffed in feigned anger, "It really does mean…"

MacLeod smiled, leaning down to brush a kiss over his lips, "I suppose it does, but give him a break. We all have to get along now." Joe and Abbe appeared in the elevator with Richie and the younger Immortal said, "Mac, you really gotta start locking the dojo door you never know whose gonna show up."

Joe smiled at him, and Abbe settled on the sofa beside Methos taking his hand, "So," she nodded at the boxes and luggage piled against the loft wall, "You moving in here?"

MacLeod beamed at her nodding, "I talked him into giving it a try." Abbe frowned, "So do you think you can survive without a place of your own?"

Methos shrugged, "I’ll try for a while, maybe two or three hundred years. If I really need some space I’ll go for a walk, or kick MacLeod down to the dojo. You know me where I lay my head is home."

The Highlander settled on the sofa beside his lover. Slowly he ran a hand up Methos’ back, and then raked his fingers through Methos’ softly tousled hair. Finally, MacLeod gently pressed the ancient Immortal’s head to MacLeod’s shoulder. Leaning over he whispered in Methos’ ear, "Welcome home."

**The End**

 


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